


Some Things Last

by postweather



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:57:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2426255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postweather/pseuds/postweather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now almost 30, Kurt is looking for an escape from city living and his successful but unfulfilling career at Vogue. He goes back to Lima to visit his family and to reassess what to do with the rest of his life, which he does—just not in the way he expects. He certainly wasn’t expecting Blaine to be living in Lima, putting on a play which he wants Kurt to be the star of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Things Last

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to hopelesslydevotedgleek for the awesome artwork, and Luci and mailroomorder for betaing!

 

 

 

Part 1

_June_

 

i

Kurt Hummel sat in the back, watching the room. All of his co-workers were there: the writers, photographers, editors, and artistic directors--and a bunch of models, who Kurt was sure were being paid by the hour. It just wouldn’t be a glamorous party without a few models. It was like any other Vogue party, and Kurt had attended several over the years. The only difference is that this time the party was for him.

       One of the models limped toward him in high heels, her big caramel-brown eyes unblinking. She stood against the wall next to him, looking at him with practiced self-assurance. It gave Kurt the creeps, but he looked up at her and smiled. “Hello there."

       “Hi. Kurt Hummel?” He nodded. “Congrats on your retirement. You don’t even look that old.” She fidgeted her fingers, looking around the room as if wishing she could smoke. She smelled like smoke and cinnamon, and Kurt realized with a small sadness that she was probably much younger than him. She couldn’t have been any older than twenty.

       “I’m not really retiring,” Kurt said. “More like moving on.”

       She nodded coolly. “I heard about your collection. Amazing.”

       Kurt smiled. “Thank you, dear.”

       “My name’s Carmel Stevens. Can I give you my card?”

       “Sure.”

       She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a small white card, and Kurt thought about how everyone had a card they wanted to give you these days, at least in New York. He took it kindly, and put it in his pocket. At any rate, the past year’s collection would be his last for a while, so it was doubtful he’d ever get around to calling her.

       The rest of the models in the room looked on longingly. Everyone assumed that he was leaving Vogue to concentrate full-time on his burgeoning fashion line, and it was true, at least originally. But as his last day at Vogue came closer, his mind began to wander away from fashion. In what direction, he wasn’t entirely sure; his mind lately had been disoriented and cloudy. He just knew he needed a change, that’s all. He had an instinctual urge to leave.

       His collection had been very lucrative, and he could live off the money he had made there and as the Editor of Vogue.com for a while. He liked that everyone thought he had big, fabulous plans, but it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

        Kurt left the party a little later feeling drained. He was starving. The party had nothing but a pathetic assortment of finger food: a vegetable platter or five, a display of caviar, and some slimy shrimp cocktail that Kurt just didn’t trust the look of. If Kurt really ran the show, he would have at least gotten a cheese platter. The real food was always at the parties they threw for celebrities; the parties for the magazines own staff made a twelve year old’s birthday party seem about ten times more fulfilling, food-wise and emotionally.

       He had told Rachel he would meet her after the party for a late dinner. He hadn’t seen Rachel in three months but she was back in the city for the time being, having been flown from L.A. to promote her latest film effort _Lady_ , a 50s era love story based on a Nicholas Sparks novel. Kurt couldn’t wait to see her.

       Rachel had been between New York and L.A. for years before finally moving to California permanently two years ago, and Artie was there as well. He had had some success with short films in the festival circuit and was currently working on his first full-length feature. Mercedes had been in L.A. since they had all graduated high school, and she was currently touring in support of her third album. He had gone to visit in L.A. many times, and Rachel had begged him time and time again to move out there with her, but it just never felt like home. New York was a bit better, but now he wasn’t even sure if he belonged there, either.

       What he needed, he decided, was a sabbatical: a creative excursion, somewhere quiet, small, free from the attention grabbing distractions of New York and L.A. Somewhere people wouldn’t be constantly slipping him their cards.

       The place that kept coming to his head was Lima. Burt and Carole were always nagging him to visit more, and he figured a couple months in Ohio couldn’t hurt him any more than 18 years already had. It couldn’t be too awful. He figured he might even get some writing done, maybe even start singing again…

       He wanted to ask Rachel, not for her advice, but for her blessing. When he told her at the restaurant after the party, he was at first met only with silence.

       “Two months in Lima,” she said finally, her face and mouth slack with disbelief.

       “I think it will be nice to spend time with my family.” He shrugged. “It might even stimulate me creatively to get out of the city, you know.”

       “New York is the most creative place on earth!”

       “Well, _you_ left it.”

       “Yeah. For L.A. Not to go back to Lima!”

       “I’m not--”

       She held up her palm to silence him. Kurt began to wonder if he was right to tell Rachel at all.  “Okay. You might just think you’re taking a little vacation from your life, but you have to be careful. I’d hate you to move back to Lima just because…”

       “Because what? I never made it as an actor or a singer, the way the rest of you did? Please, Rachel, despite popular belief, I’m not that jealous of you. I’d rather move to Russia than L.A. At least Moscow has culture.” The waiter came out with drinks, and they both awkwardly thanked him.

       “Don’t be such a snob,” Rachel said, as the waiter walked away. “New York will always be my true home, but L.A. does have culture, and a lot of talented people, too.”

       Kurt rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m talented, and I’ll be talented even if I’m on Mars. Or the Midwest. There are artists everywhere. I can be an artist in Lima.”

       Rachel nodded. “Fine. Visit my dads, if you have time. They’re so impressed by your work at Vogue. They’re more into Vanity Fair, but, still.”

       “Will do.”

       “Sorry I said all that, about you giving up. It just--you know, Blaine moved back to Lima last year.”

       Kurt, mid-sip, choked on his wine. “Blaine? Blaine who?”

       “Blaine Anderson. The one and only.”

       “Yeah?” His voice was about two octaves higher than normal, but he tried to act nonchalant. Blaine Anderson being in Lima was not part of his plans for a calm escape from New York. “I thought he lived in L.A.”

       Rachel laughed. “I knew that’s why you were pretending to hate L.A. I swear, you’d hate the entire state that Blaine Anderson happened to be in at any given time.”

“That’s not true,” Kurt said stiffly. “It’s too sunny, California, and the people are too friendly. It sucks.”

       Rachel grinned at him, all-knowing. “O- _kay_.”

       Kurt took in a sharp breath, puffing up slightly, his cheeks splotching pink. “And that’s not true, about Blaine. I have no hard feelings. It’s been ten years since we broke up. We were kids. He was my first love, and he broke my heart, and it kind of left me unable to trust men romantically, but, you know! It’s fine!” Kurt was now clenching his fork, and began to look around for the waiter. “Sorry, I’m starving. You know how I get.”

       “It’s fine.”

       “I haven’t seen or spoken to Blaine in years. I don’t know what his moving back to Lima has to do with me.”

       Rachel leaned into the table just as the waiter came by again with their food. She leaned back, smiling that smile she saved for when someone interrupted her. When he left, she leaned in again and Kurt looked at her attentively, although he had already began eating.

       “He did live in L.A. for a while, you know,” Rachel said in a stage-whisper. “He had a record deal.”

       “I know. I heard,” Kurt said dryly. Blaine had completely fallen off the radar after his first album was released. Kurt used to get constant status updates from his friends about him, and then--nothing. “So what happened?”

       “He released his album, and it sold all right, you know, but not as much as his label was hoping, I guess. They dropped him after his tour, so that was it. He moved back to Ohio. I think he’s, like, an art therapist or something, for little kids with emotional issues, now.” She shook her head, laughed, and took a bite of her salad. “It’s funny, though. Mercedes has connections. She had another deal lined up for him. She had a duet written for her and Blaine, for his comeback single. It could have been huge, but he just gave up. Like he didn’t even want it anymore.”

       Kurt was taken aback by that. He couldn’t pretend to know Blaine’s motives; why he would give up his dreams like that was beyond Kurt’s imagination. He knew Blaine Anderson long ago, but he didn’t know him anymore. He put down his fork and took a long sip of wine before responding. “So, again: what does this have to do with me?”

       “I don’t want you to give up like that.”

       “Give up what?”

       “Performing.”

       Kurt rolled his eyes. “That ship has long since sailed. If you noticed, not even Mercedes could get me a record deal.”

       Rachel shook her head. “I don’t think you’re leaving Vogue for nothing. I think you want to pursue your other passion. I could tell this was going to happen, I just knew! I have a Kurt Hummel sense! You’re going to make your return to the stage. It’s what we came to New York for the first place! Maybe we all found success in L.A., but New York is your town, Kurt. It’s going to love you one day. I always knew that.”

       “You used to say that New York was _your_ town,” he said flatly.

       “It’s both of ours,” Rachel said, as if it were self-evident. Her gaze softened. “I’m glad you’re leaving Vogue. I’m just worried if you go back to Lima, you’ll get stuck there, just like Blaine.”

       Kurt sighed. “That’s just it. I’m sick of the game. You’re right. I want to perform again. First I need a break from New York. I feel so drained by it lately. I want to see my family. Sometimes I feel like I’ve lost myself, somewhere in this city.”

       Rachel leaned back, hummed with understanding, and said, “So it’s a back-to-your-roots, spiritual journey, kind of thing?”

       “I suppose it is,” Kurt said.

       “That couldn’t hurt. Maybe I’ll join you when this movie has finally premiered.” There was exhaustion beneath Rachel’s voice. “I could probably stand to go back to my roots. Maybe you, Blaine, and I could all hang out at the Lima Bean, like old times,” she said.

       Kurt laughed. “No thanks.”

       “If you really want to flex your creative muscles, there’s a new theater in town, you know. My dads told me about it; they were really excited about art finally coming to Lima after all these years,” she said, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Apparently they had a very moving production of _Hairspray_ last month. Tracy was played by a fifty year old woman.”

       “Hmm,” Kurt said. “That sounds fun. I could do community theater. Totally.” He laughed self-consciously, knowing how grotesque many of his New York friends would find the idea. That, somehow, made it seem like an even better idea.

       They finished their meal cheerfully. Rachel caught him up on everything he had missed, and made him promise to visit L.A. when he was done with his spiritual quest. The subject naturally changed to their love lives, as it always did after the third or fourth glass of wine.

       “I slept with Thom,” Rachel confessed.

       “Your co-star?”

       “Yeah,” she giggled. “I thought it would help me get into character.”

       “Did it?”

       “Yeah. My character’s an idiot. The hot ones never know what they’re doing. Seriously.”

       Kurt murmured in agreement. “It’s like...they never know what to do with their..”

       “Hands,” Rachel said, nodding vigorously.

       “I was going to say their mouths. But I guess you’re right. It’s just never worth it.”

       “So what about you?” Rachel asked. “Seeing anyone new?”

       Kurt shook his head. “I still hang out with Paul sometimes, but it’s still not serious. Thank god.”

       “Did you ever imagine we’d end up just _hanging out_ with grown men? I swear, dating these days is just like high school all over again. I used to think I’d be married by the time I was twenty-five.”

       Kurt laughed. “Me too, actually.”

       “At least we’re not thirty yet. When I’m thirty, that’s when I’ll panic. Until then, I still have hope for us.”

       “Me too,” Kurt said, but he was half-lying; he had hope for Rachel. She would find love, he was sure of it. As for himself, he had given up the idea of ever getting married. He went on a lot of dates when he was in the mood, and he had sex with the ones he liked, but no one ever made him feel the butterflies he remembered feeling when he was young. He was mostly operating under the assumption that butterflies were reserved for youth, and he had already had his share. The only time he ever felt sad about it was when he looked back and thought about how things _almost_ turned out differently. But he didn’t let himself think about that very often.

 

ii

       It rained and rained and rained the morning Kurt arrived back in Lima. It was the first official day of summer, and Kurt could taste the change in the air. He hadn’t slept at all on the plane, so he slept in the car ride back to the Hummel household. Burt and Carole sat in the front, and he sat in the back, resting his head against the window, comforted by the familiar scent of his father’s car.

       He felt kind of silly when his father woke him up with a gentle shove. “Hey, buddy. Wake up. We’re home.”

       He kind of knew what Rachel was talking about. It did feel pathetic. He was 29, moving back in with his father after giving up an incredibly promising career. He could only imagine how it looked to other people, which was exactly why he hadn’t told anyone except for Rachel.

_Anyway_ , he told himself, _I’m not moving back. I’m visiting. Gracing Lima with my presence._

 

Carole and Burt seemed immensely happy to have him back in town, although he couldn’t help but notice the small, worried glances they kept giving each other during dinner that night.

       “Do I have something on my face?” Kurt asked.

       “No,” Carole said quickly, shaking her head.

       “Nope,” Burt said, shoving mashed potato in his mouth and looking away.

       “Is everything alright?”

       “Yes,” Burt said. “Is everything is okay with you? Back in New York?”

       “Yeah,” Kurt said. “I just needed some fresh air,” he added, feeling like a crazy person.

       “You left Vogue?” Carole added timidly. “For good?”

       “I have enough money,” Kurt said, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

       “That’s not what we’re worried about,” Burt said.

       Kurt sat back in his chair, feeling hurt. He thought they would be nothing but happy to see him. “Do you not want me here?”

       “Of course we want you here,” Burt said. “Don’t be stupid. We want you to be happy, most of all, and if you’re not happy, then…”

       “Then what? I’m a grown man. You can’t fix my life for me,” Kurt said. He sounded like an angst-ridden teenager. He sighed. “I’m fine. I just really, really needed a break from the city, and I missed it here, as stupid as that sounds.”

       “That’s not stupid,” Carole said, her eyes misting up. “We missed you, honey, and you can stay as long as you’d like.”

       “As long as you’re not running away from anything,” Burt added. “That’s not like you, to run. And fine isn’t the same as happy.”

       “Don’t worry,” Kurt said, in a gruff enough voice to end the conversation. “I’m happy _here,_ ” he added with forced cheer, and began to concentrate on pushing some green beans around on his plate. When Burt and Carole looked at him next it was with a look Kurt recognized as pity.

 

After dinner Kurt retired to his bedroom. The last time he had been there was Christmas. He had left everything pristine and neat, as always, but it wasn’t really his room, not like it used to be. All the mementos and photographs had been taken down from the wall. There was a sad stillness about this room that had once contained his whole life, and now went completely unlived in.

       Kurt couldn’t help but be reminded of who he used to be in this room; his hopes, dreams, and love. It was a lonely feeling, remembering alone.

       The next day, Kurt slept in until ten, indulging in his own unemployment. He couldn’t remember the last time he had time to sleep in. When he finally went downstairs to get breakfast, Burt and Carole had both gone to work, and the house was quiet and still. After he ate some toast, he decided to head out, as he was feeling claustrophobic in the empty house.

       Unfortunately, as he remembered, there wasn’t a lot to do in Lima. He decided to go to the Lima Bean, for old time’s sake. He ordered a large skim latte and sat in the darkest corner he could find, praying he wouldn’t see anyone he knew from high school. He wasn’t ready for that just yet. Or ever. He brought a magazine to read, and a notebook to jot any creative ideas down, but instead he just worried about how he would mostly likely be spending the next two months hiding in dark corners, worrying about running into former Cheerios pushing strollers around.

       It hadn’t occurred to him that even people he didn’t know would recognize him, but a group of teenaged girls tiptoed over to his table, huddled together like a wolf pack. Kurt looked up from the article he was reading, thinking they were going to ask to borrow the empty chair at his table. “Yes?”

       “Are you Kurt Hummel?” the tallest, blondest of the girls asked. The other two silently stared.

       “Yeah?”

       “Oh my god. So it’s true. You left Vogue. You’re back here in Lima to find yourself.”

       Kurt tilted his head. This was some _Twilight Zone_ shit. “Where’d you hear that?”

       “Everyone’s talking about it on the Blaine Anderson blogs.”

       “Well, the _blog_ ,” the girl standing next to the leader said. “There’s only one, really.” The blonde shook her head as if to push what her friend had just said away.

       Kurt couldn’t help but laugh. “Really.”

       “He’s got a cult following here in Lima,” the blonde said. “His hometown.”

       “Actually, he was born in Westerville,” Kurt said. Again, the blonde shook her head; it was beginning to look like a compulsive twitch.

       “He’s our teacher,” the smallest girl said. “At the middle school. He does the after-school program for the arts.”

       “That’s nice,” Kurt said. “So why do you care about me?”

       “You’re a legend,” the leader said. “Blaine wrote ‘Lifetime of Regret’ about you.”

       “That’s debatable. He could have written that about anyone,” Kurt said. He looked around and realized people were staring. He had raised his voice. _Great_ , he thought. _Now the blog will be talking about how I yelled at a bunch of tween girls._

       “So you’ve heard the song?” the small girl said, a hint of a squeal in her voice. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

       “So sad,” the girl with red hair panted.

       “It’s a little melodramatic,” Kurt said. “Yeah, I’ve heard it.”

       The tall girl stiffened up. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Hummel. Sorry to hear about Vogue. I heard you were going to be the next Anna Wintour.”

       “She would’ve had to devour my soul first,” Kurt said with a shrug. “I wasn’t really feeling it.”

       Kurt decided to leave shortly afterward, feeling depressed and idiotic for thinking that coming back to this place would be anything but a bad idea, dragging up feelings he didn’t want to feel. It was like there was a subconscious drive forcing him into places full of tarnished memories.

       While he was leaving, he saw a poster tacked to the bulletin boards by the door. LIMA COMMUNITY THEATER PRESENTS _THE GLASS MENAGERIE_. He had remembered Rachel talking about this new theater. He wasn’t very much impressed by their choice of play--Everyone does _Menagerie_ , but, it was a nice little play. Being stuck in your hometown, dreaming of leaving, but being stuck by responsibilities--Kurt could relate to that. Perfect for Lima, the hometown of soul crushing disappointment. On the bottom of the page, it read: OPEN AUDITIONS. LIMA THEATER. SATURDAY, JUNE 20TH. 1PM.

       Auditions were tomorrow. Kurt bit his lip, weighing his options, deciding he had nothing, in all honesty, to lose. It was short notice, and as far as performing, he was a little rusty, but he was already familiar with the play, and felt he could put on a good Tom--he had an all-American yet sophisticated jawline, after all.  It felt like a sign, like this part was put here specifically for him.

       He just had to take it.

 

iii

Kurt pulled up to the Lima community theater feeling groggy and dazed. After seeing the flier at the Lima Bean the day before, he ran to the library to get a copy of _The Glass Menagerie_. He read it, and then re-read it, deciding with slight frustration to settle on the opening monologue as an audition piece. He wished it was a musical--he knew how to dazzle in an audition with singing and dancing. He had slightly less confidence in his stage presence, in his ability to make the understated shine.

       He waited in the old halls of the theater, which looked like it had not been remodeled since the 1970s. The walls were papered with goldenrod, the floor tiled a pale, dull brown. There was a small group waiting to audition, mostly women: a few twenty and thirty somethings there for Laura, but far more staunch middle aged women vying for Amanda. He made friendly eye contact with a few of them, who looked at him skeptically.

       There were hardly any men there, but there was one, far down the hall, staring him down. When Kurt stared back, the man made a big show of burying his head in his script. _My competition_ , Kurt thought, feeling suddenly confident. The guy staring at him was clearly intimidated; there were two or three other men there, but they were all well over thirty, and wouldn’t make believable Toms at all.

       A woman came to the hallway from the door that led to the backstage passage into the stage. Her high heels clinked against the tile. “Kurt Hummel?”

       Kurt leapt up. “Here. Ready.”

       “Come with me.” She led him to the stage where he stood as she made her way back to the auditorium seats, where a man in a beanie cap and horn-rimmed glasses sat.

       “My name is Monica,” she said, once she sat down. “And this is Peter. We’re the producers in charge of casting. Unfortunately, our director is stuck in traffic, but he should be here shortly.” She smiled kindly. “So, I assume you are auditioning for Tom?”

       “Yes,” Kurt said softly. “I’ll be doing the opening monologue.”

       “Okay.” She picked up a clipboard, and clicked her pen. “Whenever you’re ready.”

       He hesitated, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, looking out into the empty auditorium. He scanned his memory, trying to think back to the last time he was on a stage, and he couldn’t remember it. It was probably during his NYADA days. Yes. Right. He went to NYADA. He’s done this before. He could do it again. He cleared his throat, stood straight, and began.

       “To begin with, I turn back time...”

       He read through the monologue, walking slowly across the stage, letting each movement help him be his character. Midway through the monologue, he paused, looked out into the audience, pausing briefly for dramatic effect. His eyes passed Monica and Peter, who looked, thankfully, intrigued by him. Then, he looked toward the auditorium entrance, where a door was being opened, letting in bright sunlight into the dim space. Walking in from the beam of light was Blaine Anderson.

Kurt’s heart leaped against his chest. _No,_ he thought. But that was all he would allow himself to think: he had a job to do, a character to be.

       Blaine looked disheveled, rushed, and his mouth was open when he looked onto the stage, and their eyes met, briefly, until Kurt looked away, determined to feel nothing.

       He had allowed his dramatic pause to continue for a moment too long already, so he resumed and finished his monologue with as much composure as he could muster. Then he took a step back, and said “Thank you,” to the room before scurrying off the stage, as fast as his feet could take him.

 

Kurt left the theater feeling himself shake with nerves and the familiar adrenaline that came from being on stage, being watched. He felt like he really did well, and they liked him, despite the slight snag. _Do not think about it, do not think about it, do not think about._ He had forgotten what that felt like, being on stage. He forced himself to feel happy, about doing well in an audition for a part he could now no longer take. _Don’t think about him. He doesn’t deserve it. Just leave._ He practically ran to his car, as if he were being chased.

       He took his keys out of his pocket, not realizing someone was behind him until he heard a timid, “Kurt? Wait up.”

       He gripped his keys in his hands, pointing them out like a weapon, as New York had taught him to do whenever a stranger tried to follow him. Kurt knew Blaine would be there, but he forced himself to be surprised, forced himself not to admit that he knew Blaine would follow him. _I don’t know Blaine anymore,_ he thought. But Blaine looked the same, except his curls were cut short and loose, which Kurt thought was a welcome change. An adult man wearing visible hair gel is a sad sight to see.

       “Oh, hey, Blaine,” Kurt said, with an eerie calmness. “I was wondering when I was going run into you.” That was the calmness. He was relieved to get this over with, to see Blaine now so that he could be cordial and then continue to never see him again. He knew deep down the minute Rachel brought Blaine up that they’d be running in to each other. Why that didn’t deter him completely, Kurt didn’t know.

       “How are you?” they both said at the same time, and neither answered the question.

       “I saw that you auditioned for the play,” Blaine said, after a beat. “That’s great.” He stepped closer, and Kurt felt himself tense up.

       “You were watching?” Kurt pretended to be surprised, refusing to allow Blaine to keep their small second of eye contact in the theater: he wanted Blaine to think that was nothing, and that Kurt was looking right through him.

       “Yeah. Well, I came in late, so I only saw the second half. You were great.”

       “Thanks. Are you auditioning, too?”

       “Oh, no,” Blaine said. “I’m the director. Sorry, I thought you knew.”

       Kurt shook his head. “No, I didn’t.” He leaned against his car door and crossed his arms. “This is awkward.”

       Again, he should have known better. Of course there was nothing worthwhile he could do in Lima; everything was tainted with old ghosts.

       “Yeah, I guess,” Blaine agreed. “But I think Monica and Peter really liked you. And, um, you know, I know we don’t have that great of a history, but I wouldn’t mind working with you now.”

       Kurt allowed himself to make eye contact with Blaine for the first time since they had begun talking, and he was filled with the old warmth he remembered; Blaine always filled with a feeling like home. Now, here, it felt awful, like a poison, like deceit. A lie that Kurt couldn’t help but want to believe. “And,” Blaine continued, as it became clear Kurt wasn’t going to respond, “It’s really great to see you.”

       “Are you hungry?” Kurt said. “I’m starving. Maybe we can get lunch, or something.” Inside, his thoughts were screaming at each other: _WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_ and _RUN, RUN, RUN._ But something else told him to stay, something small and strong inside him.

       “I’d love to, but--I have all these auditions to watch.” Blaine swayed slightly, looked back at the theater.

       Kurt nodded. “I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

       “Wait. Give me five minutes. I’ll just tell them to take good notes for me. I’ll be right back.” He ran back into the theater, and Kurt looked up at the sky, wondering what had gotten into him these days.

 

“So…” Kurt said, nibbling on garlic bread. He remembered Breadstix tasting a lot better when he was younger. “I hope you know I won’t be pursuing this role. It’s a conflict of interest.”

       “Seriously? It’s community theater. Everything’s a conflict of interest.” Now that they were in a crowded, public place, a lot of the tension was gone. _This is normal_ , they both seemed to be silently saying. Or pretending. “And I promise you, I’m not going to give you this role just because we used to date.”

       “I thought it would be the opposite, like, you _wouldn’t_ give me the part because we used to date...”

       Blaine shook his head. “Even if I wanted to be that spiteful, which I don’t, I wouldn’t be. You’re overestimating the amount of talent we have to choose from. It’s slim pickings for male leads, as always.” He laughed, twirling a bit of spaghetti around his fork. “It’s nearly impossible to cast a local production of anything, actually. I love it, though.” He stuffed the spaghetti in his mouth unselfconsciously. Kurt had to force himself not to stare.

       “I heard your production of _Hairspray_ was a success.”

       Blaine nodded. “It came together in the end. It just wasn’t exactly at the level I’d like it to be.” He looked in the distance, as if lost in thought. “I have real ambitions for this theater. We’re working with a state grant at the moment, which I only got because I know some politicians who used to be Warblers, and they all owed me favors. But unless we start getting serious attention, from all over Ohio, we don’t stand a chance. The town wanted to demolish the theater and turn it into a parking lot. It’s historic, and they don’t even care.”

       “I never knew Lima had a community theater. I know that building was always there, but it was abandoned, wasn’t it?”

       Blaine shook his head. “The town always owned it. They stopped putting on plays in the 1970s because of lack of interest. It took me so long to even get this off the ground that losing it now would devastate me. I really want this play to be a success.”

       “I guess you couldn’t afford the rights to _Streetcar_?”

       Blaine shook his head sadly. “Don’t remind me. We’re on a limited budget.”

       “Hmm,” Kurt said. “I never would have guessed you would be the last one of us to stay and fight for the arts in Lima.”

       “What’s that supposed to mean?” Blaine said, puffing up slightly. He took a sip of water and raised an eyebrow.

       “You were the only one I really believed would make it big out there, besides Rach,” Kurt said. “That’s all. I thought you would be too busy.”

       Blaine, to Kurt’s surprise, laughed. “I guess you were a poor judge. No. I’ve changed a lot since I was a kid. I don’t like the attention as much as I like helping the community, you know? I wanted to make a difference, and I think I’m better off doing this than working on my own art. I love making things come together, bringing out the best in people. Someone had to stay, anyway. Even Mr. Shue left. But there’s still art that needs to be expressed.” The way he said it sounded rehearsed, as if this was something he had said before, over and over, like he was used to explaining to people why he was in Lima. The thought made Kurt sad, in spite of himself.

       Kurt nodded. “I always think about how different my life would have been if it weren’t for Glee club. It makes a difference, the option being there. People need an outlet. They need something to brighten their lives. Music does that. Theater does that.”

       “Exactly,” Blaine said. “You get it. You should join the board of directors for the theater.”

       Kurt averted his gaze, fiddling with his fork. “I’m only staying a couple months, actually. Then it’s back to New York.”

       “Oh,” Blaine said, shaking his head. “Duh, yeah. Sorry.” He laughed. “It gets lonely here, sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, I never wish I was back in L.A. I just wish the old gang would visit sometimes.”

       “Rachel said she was thinking of coming out to see me. And you, actually.”

       “That would be great! I miss her. I saw the trailer for her new movie. It looks awful, but she looks great.”

       Kurt laughed. “Yeah. I think L.A. is really driving her crazy, actually. It’d be good for her to take a break.”

       “Isn’t that why you’re back? You needed a break?”

       Kurt thought about lying and agreeing with him, but decided against it. “No. I was really lonely.”

       Blaine nodded. “I guess it gets lonely everywhere.” He paused, looking at Kurt like he was drinking him in. “It’s so great to see you.”

       “You already said that.”

       “I know, but it’s true. I really thought I would never see you again, after last time. I mean, God. It’s been five years, and here we are talking like old friends. But we aren’t, not really.”

       “We never did try very hard to be friends,” Kurt said.

       “No,” Blaine agreed. “I guess we didn’t.”

       They finished eating, and Kurt insisted on paying the check. He was about to get up and say goodbye when Blaine grabbed him by the hand, squeezing it in his palm. “So you’ll take the part, if the group chooses you?”

       Kurt was going to say no, he had no interest in being in Blaine’s production, and yes, it _was_ because of Blaine, but then he decided he no longer wanted to be someone over whom Blaine had so much power. He was tired of being angry, especially at someone who, at the end of the day, was so annoyingly harmless. “I’ll think about it,” he said, and went home.

 

iv

       The last time Kurt saw Blaine was at Rachel’s party, the one celebrating her first real performance of _Funny Girl_ ; they had all gathered at a smoky gay club. Up until then Kurt had been doing a good job of ignoring Blaine, despite the fact that they lived in the same city, went to the same school, and had all the same friends. The last time they had really interacted was when they had slept together at Will Schuester’s wedding, which was a big mistake--all Kurt wanted was closure, but he just ended up leading Blaine on. After that, Kurt went back to New York and rushed into making him and Adam an official couple, just so Blaine would stop calling, and eventually he did, although he was always staring at Kurt sadly across NYADA hallways.

       Kurt had no patience for cheaters.

       That night, Adam was in England for his mother’s birthday, and Kurt felt lonely. At the bar, men he didn’t know kept trying to talk to him. It was exhausting, so when Blaine tapped him on the shoulder and asked to speak with him privately, Kurt said yes.

       But he wasn’t expecting to be led into a bathroom stall, and pushed up against a wall, Blaine kissing his neck. “God, I miss you, I can’t stand this, Kurt,” Blaine murmured between kisses, and for a few minutes Kurt let him kiss him, on the neck, and then the mouth, and he even let their bodies press together. He let himself be filled with the familiar heat of Blaine, but only for a moment.

       “Get off me,” Kurt said, pushing him away. “You’re drunk.”

       “You are, too,” Blaine said.

       “Not as drunk as you,” he said. “And I have a boyfriend.”

       “You don’t love him.”

       Kurt didn’t answer that, because it wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t any of Blaine’s business. “He’s good to me.”

       “Kurt, it was the biggest mistake of my life. You have to believe me.” Blaine leaned close, and Kurt could smell his breath, which smelled like whiskey, and Kurt wanted to believe him. He wanted to kiss him more. But he couldn’t lie to himself.

       “I’m working on forgiving you,” he said, finally. “But I don’t want to be with you.” Blaine’s eyes filled with tears, and Kurt took his hand. “You want to go home? I can get you a cab.”

       Blaine shook his head. “I’m dropping out of NYADA next semester. I’m moving.”

       Kurt, feeling too numb for the announcement to faze him, just said, “Where?”

       “L.A. I got a record deal. I sent in my demo. One of my professors has a contact.”

       “Blaine, that’s amazing. Congratulations.”

       Blaine wiped a tear away as it fell down his cheek. “I don’t want to leave it like this. I guess I always thought we’d end up back together. If I leave, I’m not so sure things will ever be the same. But I can’t stay, either.”

       “No,” Kurt agreed. “I guess you can’t.” His voice softened. “We’re already through, Blaine. Go.”

       It didn’t seem like a cruel thing to say until Kurt saw the look in Blaine’s eyes, the wince of pain. It was the same pain he felt when Blaine had told him he had slept with someone else. But Blaine deserved it, now. He deserved to hurt like Kurt had hurt, and he also deserved to have all his dreams come true in L.A. Kurt wasn’t sure how both things could be true, but they were. No one was all good or all bad. And it was just like when Blaine had set Kurt free, and told him to go to New York. It eventually ruined their relationship, but if Blaine hadn’t told him to go, Kurt would maybe never have left. It was Kurt’s turn to set Blaine free.

       “I’ll never be able to tell you how much I wish I could take it back,” Blaine said, swaying on his feet.

       “I know,” Kurt said softly. He did know. The problem was that knowing didn’t fix a single thing. “I wish you could, too.”      

       Blaine kissed him once more on the lips, so fast Kurt couldn’t push him away. Then, he unlocked the bathroom stall and walked away. “Bye, Kurt.”

       “Bye.”

       Kurt stayed for a while in the men’s room, sitting on the disgusting tile floor, feeling as though he, somehow, had made a mistake.

 

v

       The night after Kurt had lunch with Blaine, he dreamed he gave a performance to everyone in Lima, and everyone stood and applauded, even those people he remembered bullying him in high school. He ran back stage after the final curtain, elated, and went to his dressing room to wash his stage makeup off.

       In the mirror he saw Blaine, holding a bouquet of red roses in the crook of his elbow. He had taken a rose out of the bouquet, and was pulling petals off of it. “Hey, Kurt,” he said casually. “You were amazing out there. I knew you would be. That’s why I married you.”

       Kurt looked down at his hands. He was wearing a silver band on his ring finger, with Blaine’s initials carved in, and he felt warm all over. “Thanks, dear,” he said, and he stood, walking towards Blaine’s outstretched arms. The flowers fell to the ground and they kissed. Blaine’s lips tasted like salt water, like ocean, and the warmth of him felt so real, even though he was dreaming it. Kurt knew it was a dream, only a dream, which is why he was rushing, pulling Blaine in roughly, sucking on his lips, kissing his cheeks, the spot where his heart beat in his throat. All the places we missed so much. He reached for the button of the shirt Blaine was wearing, and then he woke up.

       Kurt knew better than to linger in the feeling the dream filled in him, but he was sleep-dazed and love-starved and he just didn’t want to. He wished he could have at least finished what he was doing instead of having to reach into his pajama pants to grip himself where he was throbbing with need. He shut off his mind, which was saying _don’t you dare_ , and he returned his mind to what he had been doing in the dream, trying to explore and kiss Blaine’s body, where he used to feel so safe, where he had once felt so at home. He came silently, thinking about sucking on Blaine’s inner thighs. He wiped his hands on his pants and his phone rang. It was a number he didn’t recognize, but he knew it was Blaine.

       “Hello?”

       “Hey. Good morning! I hope I didn’t wake you.”

       Kurt looked at the clock. It was 10 am. He sighed. “Oh, no, I’ve been up for hours. I’m really busy.”

       “Oh. You sounded sleepy. Anyway, I just wanted to give you a call to tell you that our casting director totally wants to offer you the part. I didn’t even need to put in a good word, or anything. They loved you. They don’t even need to have a call back.”

       “Oh,” Kurt said. He sighed again, and sat up on his bed. “Blaine, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can accept the part. I told you I’d think about it, and I did. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

       “What? Why?”

       “There’s too much history between you and I. I think there are too many feelings there. Working together would be too messy.” Kurt felt a lump in his throat, and he shook his head at himself. Why was he so emotional?

       There was a short silence. Then, Blaine said, “Feelings?”

       “Yeah.”

       “I have no feelings. You have feelings?”

       Kurt forced a laugh. “No. No! Of course not. It was years ago, I’m so over it. It’s just--I was worried you might--”

       “No. Kurt, we were kids when we were together. We’re grown men now. I think we can handle it. I won’t be pleading for you to get back together with me, or anything. Obviously.”

       “Right. Yeah.”

       “So, will you take the part?”

       Kurt had no job, no friends that he saw regularly, and, apparently, an ex-boyfriend who was indifferent to him, not to mention the come stains on his satin pajamas. “Sure, why not. I can use the ego boost.”

       “Awesome! We still need to finish casting the other parts, but we want to start preliminary rehearsals next Wednesday. Can I come over later to drop off your script, maybe go over a few things?”

       “Sure,” Kurt said.

       “Great. Does around 4 work?”

       “Yeah,” Kurt agreed, “that’s fine.”

       “Cool. See you then.”

       He thought about calling Rachel after he hung up, to tell her the news, but instead he lay back on his bed and decided he would rather keep it to himself until he absolutely had to. Everything was so bizarre. Rachel would only tell him it was silly of him to expect anything else from a soul-searching mission in Lima.

       Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep his working relationship with Blaine Anderson a secret for very long, because when Blaine rang the doorbell at 4, Burt answered the door.

       Kurt ran down the stairs just in time to see Burt embracing a stunned but smiling Blaine. “Blaine Anderson! I can’t believe it!”

       “Please, Dad, don’t suffocate him.”

       “It’s so good to see you, Mr. Hummel,” Blaine said, blushing slightly.

       “I’m pretty sure I told you years ago to call me Burt. That hasn’t changed. You’re staying for dinner, right? Carole’s at the store, but she won’t let you leave without feeding you first.”

       “Dad, he hasn’t even stepped in the door,” Kurt said.

       “Oh. Right. Come in!”

       Blaine smiled and walked through the room, looking shyly at Kurt. It reminded Kurt of the first time Blaine came over for dinner, how bashful he was, how much he wanted Burt to like him. After everything happened, Burt was devastated that they had broken up. Kurt never really told him the details. Seeing them together now was a sort of return to innocence, when things were easy. _This is the kind of shit I was talking about when I said messy,_ Kurt thought, smiling falsely at Blaine.

       “We’re going upstairs,” Kurt said, talking Blaine by the arm and walking him up the stairs.

       “Just like the old days!” Burt said, grinning.

       “Blaine has a script for me. I’m starring in his next play at the Lima Community Theater.”

       “Oh! Great!” Burt said, visibly confused, but pleased nonetheless.

       Kurt brought him into his bedroom. “Sorry, I think this is the only place we can get privacy. My dad is about to take pictures of you to post to Instagram. He does that now.” He shook his head. “It’s either this or the bathroom. Feel free to sit down.”

       Blaine nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “This is fine.” He looked around the room, lost in thought. “Wow.”

       Kurt shrugged. “Yeah, it looks exactly the same as it used to. Except not. Kind of like a lot of things about this town, right?” He didn’t give Blaine enough time to respond. He sat down and kept talking. “My dad was sadder about us breaking up than I was. That’s probably why he wants us so badly to be making out right now.”

       “Really? He was sadder?”

       Kurt paused. “No, not really. He was really sad, though.”

       Blaine nodded. “It’s good to see him. I think the last time I saw your father was…” He hesitated, looking down at the carpet.

       “Finn’s funeral.”

       “Yeah.”

       “So he’s going to insist you stay for dinner,” Kurt said airily, changing the subject. “But feel free to make something up, pretend you’re busy.”

       “I’d love to stay. If you want me to, anyway.”

       “Sure,” Kurt said, still faking cheerfulness. “But we should probably talk business first.”

       “Yeah.” Blaine handed Kurt the script that he was keeping under his arm. “I know you’re a professional and I don’t have to worry about your work ethic, but I’m going to be giving everyone the same spiel. You better start learning your part now.” Kurt nodded, feeling proud that Blaine called him a professional, despite the fact that the last time he had acted in anything was in college. “Rehearsals start next week. We have six performances, over the last two weekends in August.” He paused. “You’ll stay in Lima at least that long, right?”

       Kurt was only planning to stay two months, less if he started getting stir-crazy, but he nodded. He could stay a few weeks more. He could handle that. “Yes, I’ll be here.”

       “Great. We have three rehearsals a week, but I reserve the right to ask everyone to come in extra, as necessary. There’s a schedule in the back of your script. You should look it over now, let me know if there are any conflicts.”

       From downstairs, the front door opened, and they could hear the jangling of keys being set on a side table. “Carole,” Kurt said. “She’ll want to talk to you. Do you want to go downstairs, have some coffee?”

       Blaine smiled. “I’d love to.”

 

Carole made Blaine sit next to her at dinner, and Kurt chose to keep his distance. _This is so weird_ , he kept thinking.

“Does anyone want wine? I think I’m going to have some wine,” he said, and Blaine nodded.

“Sure.”      

“So, Blaine,” Carole started, smiling wide. Kurt was definitely sure that she was smiling more than when Kurt came back to stay.

Everyone always loved Blaine so much, Kurt thought, but no one really knew Blaine like Kurt knew him. Blaine had a dark side that no one would expect; it was part of what made his cheating hurt so much and so long. Kurt never expected it, coming from him, the sweet boy next door, the boy that protected him and told him to have courage.  Kurt opened the bottle of wine slowly, staring at Blaine while he did. Blaine was cheerful, telling Burt and Carole about how he worked at the local middle school, the director of an afterschool program for the arts; the theater was more of a side project, but he was equally passionate about both.

“We’re very proud of you,” Carole told him, and Kurt smiled.

He poured two glasses of wine. “Yes. Very proud,” Kurt said, and Blaine glanced over at him, a hopeful expression on his face that vanished within a second.

A silence fell over the table, and Kurt placed one of the glasses in front of Blaine’s plate. “Thank you,” he said, and Kurt nodded.

Burt looked at Kurt, then at Blaine. “It’s good to see you two being friends again,” Burt said.

“Oh, we were always friends,” Kurt said flippantly. “Just in our own way.” He smiled at Blaine, who smiled back, although he looked confused. “Can you pass the salt?”

 

       Kurt walked Blaine to his car after dinner. It took a while to get him out of Burt and Carole’s grips, and the sun had long since fallen. “Thanks for stopping by,” Kurt said, as Blaine opened his car door. His voice was strained, but he tried to mean it. Everything was just too weird, and he didn’t know how he was feeling, or if he even felt anything, anymore. Sometimes Kurt worried that living in New York for the past decade made him numb--nothing surprised him anymore, not even having a family dinner with Blaine Anderson when last week he thought he’d never speak to him again. But Blaine smiled at him sweetly, like he always did, and Kurt knew he could feel all the things he used to feel. That was the problem.

       But things were different. They were both older, wiser, and they knew love was a lie. Maybe they could be friends. But mostly likely, definitely, not.

       “Thanks for having me.” Blaine cleared his throat, and stepped closer. “Hey, I know that was awkward. I know you felt weird about me being here.”

       “Me? No!”

       Blaine laughed. “I know you, okay? At least I used to. I know that face you make when you wish everyone would shut up and go away. Like you’ve been sucking on lemons.”

       Kurt raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything.

       “I don’t want it to be awkward,” Blaine continued. He put a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “I want to be friends.”

       Kurt shook him off, stepped back. “I don’t care what you want,” he said, coldly. _You don’t know me_ , he thought, angry.

       Blaine looked hurt, but composed. He nodded. “I’m sorry--”

       “No. Don’t apologize.” Kurt closed his eyes, lowered his head. “Sorry. Being back in Lima is weird for me, of course it’s weird, and it was weird for you to come over for dinner, but I don’t mind it, really.” He was babbling, and Blaine’s eyes were wide. “I hate the way my father looks at you, like he wishes I had married you, or something. That’s what bothered me the most. Carole, too, but my father? I never expected him to want me to marry any man. Now I don’t think he’ll ever want me to marry anyone like he wished I had married you.”

       “Oh,” Blaine said. He blushed, and Kurt almost laughed, said he was joking, took it back.

       “He just really liked you, that’s all, and I never introduced him to any of my other boyfriends, so…”

       “No. I get it. It was awkward. I’m sorry.”

       “It’s not your fault.”

       “No, I think it is,” Blaine said. “I think we would’ve, you know, if I hadn’t cheated on you.”

       Kurt felt himself start to shake, a voice in his head telling him _go_. “I can’t really think about stuff like that,” Kurt said. “It would drive me crazy.” He stepped back, shrugged sadly. Blaine looked at him like he had more to say, but Kurt didn’t let him. “I should go.”

       “Okay. Goodnight.”

       Kurt was at his front door when Blaine stuck his head out of his car window and said, “Hey, Kurt?”

       Kurt turned around, and Blaine said, “I’ll see you at rehearsal, right?”

       Kurt hesitated, and the cool air of the early summer night filled up in between them with silence. “Yeah. Yes. I’ll be there.”

       Kurt went back into the house, still shaking as he closed the door behind him. There was a blind anger kindling up in him. He wondered what was wrong with him, why, after years, he was still angry at Blaine for what he did--then he realized that wasn’t it. It wasn’t that simple. He didn’t care that Blaine cheated on him when they were kids. He even understood why Blaine did it, although that didn’t excuse it. What kept him angry was that Blaine never allowed him to be _free_. He still had power over Kurt, and it infuriated him.

       He should’ve stayed in New York, where he could at least miss Blaine in peace.

       “Kurt?”

       Kurt was still standing in the doorway, tears welling in his eyes. He blinked them away and turned to face his father.

       “You okay?”

       Kurt forced a smile, but couldn’t lie. “I’ve been better.”

       Burt nodded, patting Kurt on the back. “It must be hard for you.”

       Kurt knew what his father meant; there was no need to elaborate. It was hard to be back here, but it was hard to be in New York, alone, and it was hard to be alone, but it was hard to pretend he felt anything at all for any of the men he met, and it hurt to see Blaine, most of all, to accept what could have been so beautiful and was now broken and irretrievable but still there, still kicking around in Kurt’s tired heart.

       “I’ll be okay,” Kurt said, standing up straight. “Seeing him makes me feel a little sick,” he added, softly.

       Burt led him into the kitchen and began to boil water for tea. “So this play. Why are you doing it, if it bothers you to see him?”

       Kurt let himself wallow in self-pity for a moment as he sunk into the table. “All I wanted was to perform again. I auditioned not even knowing he was directing! And they chose me, so if I dropped out, I’d be losing an opportunity because I can’t handle my feelings for Blaine.” He paused, corrected himself. “How being around Blaine makes me feel--like I’m drowning in my own pathetic sadness. Like I’ll never stop being the boy Blaine Anderson cheated on.”

       Burt sat down across from him, frowning. “I didn’t know he cheated on you.”

       “It was nothing, really.” _It ruined everything_ , he thought.

       Burt continued, “If I had known that, I probably would have strangled the kid.”

       “That’s why you didn’t know,” Kurt said, “Although I considered it.”

       “I guess there are worse things you can do. Some couples can come back from cheating.”

       “Did you ever cheat on mom?”

       “Of course not--that’s unforgivable!”

       Kurt rolled his eyes.

       “I mean that there are different levels of cheating, and different levels that people can take and still come back loving the other person.”

       Kurt shook his head. “It’s not about love. It’s about trust. I’m just not a very forgiving person, I guess.”

       “You are. If you didn’t feel up to forgiving him at the time, you had every right to feel that way.”

       “Thanks,” Kurt said. “I always felt like everyone was mad at me for not taking Blaine back.”

       “Not mad,” Burt said. “We only ever wanted you to be happy. After you and Blaine broke up...you weren’t happy, for a while.”

       There was something gone unsaid, about how maybe Kurt’s adult self, no matter how successful, had lost the spry, willful joy he used to have. He had lost the part of his heart that was optimistic when Blaine left, and everyone in his life knew it.

       The tea kettle whistled, and Kurt sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Blaine did make me happy, once upon a time.”

       “So be his friend,” Burt said. “People make mistakes. Maybe you two were never meant to be together, but I think this play is a sign that you were meant to be in each other’s lives.”

       _That’s the problem_ , Kurt thought. “You’re right,” he said. “It was so long ago.”

       Burt smiled, pouring tea. “It wasn’t that long ago. Six years? That’s nothing. When you get old, like me, you can go years without talking to someone, and when you do see them again, it’s like nothing ever changed. You stop taking it for granted, the people you love, even if they’ve hurt you. Because you know they’re not going to last forever.”

       “I never stopped loving him,” Kurt said. “But I don’t even know what that means, or if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

       Burt sat down, looked at Kurt softly. “Another thing you learn to do, as time passes, is to stop talking about love as if it were a problem. I think there were a million things about your mother that used to get on my nerves, when she was alive, but nothing was as strong as the love I had for her, because now, that’s what’s left.”

       Kurt nodded wordlessly, knowing there was nothing he could say. “Thanks, Dad.”

       Kurt only remembered his mother in tiny, small bits of memory that he carried with him like scraps of fabric in his hands. He remembered how she felt more than how she really was. He remembered her soft hands, the light brown color of her long, soft hair, the way her eyes looked at him like he was a birthday gift, every day of the year. They were small, split-second memories, what he had of his mother. Sometimes, growing up, he resented his father for having more memories of her, for knowing more about who she really was. All Kurt really remembered of her was her gentleness, and the way she loved him. They never got to know each other as adults. He remembered his father as softer, too, before his mother died, but he got soft again, sure enough, that kind of soft that only comes from loss. And so maybe there was hope for Kurt. Maybe there was a way to start again, to start believing that love, after all, was a gift.

       Maybe. But probably not.

 

vi

       Kurt busied himself over the next few days by going over his script, again and again. He was determined to not let the dinner with Blaine shake him too much. He was planning for his return to the stage to be a triumph, whatever it took.

       That weekend, though, he was feeling restless; he wanted to talk to somebody. He called Rachel, but only got her voicemail. He figured it was time to pull the Blaine card, as it would be the only thing to get her to find time to call him back. (The message he left: “Hey. Blaine and I are hanging out without you. Literally. Blaine came over for dinner a few days ago. Okay, call me back and I’ll tell you all about it.”)

       He sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling, then at the clock. It was 9PM, and he had no one to talk to. There was only one person he found himself wanting to call, and he had spent the whole week trying not to think about him. _You’re an idio_ t, Kurt told himself, as he dialed Blaine’s number. It took a few rings, but Blaine answered. “Hello?”

       “It’s me,” Kurt said, and he was met with silence. “Kurt.” Then, again: “Kurt Hummel.”

       “Oh! Hey! Kurt! Sorry, it’s loud in here.” There was a rustling noise, and a pause, and the sound of a door closing. “I didn’t recognize your number. I guess I didn’t save it into my contacts. Sorry.”

       “It’s okay,” Kurt said, although he was annoyed. The star of his play and he couldn’t even save his number?

       “So what’s up?” Blaine asked. “Do you have questions about the script?”

       “Yes,” Kurt lied. “A few.”

       There was the sound of a door opening, and a voice. “Come on, Blaine, we’re doing tequila shots.”

       “Hold on,” Blaine told the voice. There was some mumbling, Blaine, saying, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

       “You sound busy,” Kurt said. “I’ll save my questions for rehearsal.”

       “Okay.” He paused, and Kurt could hear his breathing through the phone, heavy, as if he had ran out of the room when Kurt had called him. “Hey, are you up to anything tonight? I’m at Scandals with some friends.” He laughed self-consciously.

       “Oh, god,” Kurt groaned. “Sebastian Smythe isn’t there, is he?”

       “Yeah, him and Karofsky.”

       Kurt gasped. “Really?”

       “No, not really. So do you want to come by? I’ll buy you a drink for being my leading man.”

       Kurt thought about saying no. Then he thought about how a minute before he was so lonely he was about to bash his head in. Maybe it would be good to go out. He looked around his empty room and felt a yearning to be anywhere but alone.

       “Yeah. I’ll stop by. Don’t do any shots until I get there.”

       Blaine laughed. “I’ll be waiting.”

 

       Kurt was both comforted and concerned by the fact that Scandals had not changed a bit since the last and only time he had been there, back in high school. He was pleased to note that he got a lot more leering sexual glances from men around the room, if it was possible to be both creeped out and pleased. “Kurt! Hey!” Blaine was sitting in the back, at a table with three other guys. Kurt walked over and smiled shyly at them.

       “Guys, this is Kurt.”

       “Oh, you’re right,” the long-haired man sitting next to him said. He was a familiar face, and after a second, Kurt remembered: this was the jealous, staring guy at auditions. “He does look like a New Yorker. Expensive clothes.” He sipped his drink, his eyes fixated on Kurt, looking him all over, but never in the eye.

       “Kurt always dressed like that.” Blaine put a hand on the man’s shoulder, as if warning him to be nice. “Kurt, this is Gareth.” He hesitated, and then mumbled: “My boyfriend.”

       Kurt felt all the blood in his body rush out of his head, and into his stomach, where it stayed in an angry, jealous pit. “Gareth,” he repeated. “Nice to meet you.”

       “Gareth is going to be playing Jim in the play,” Blaine said, quickly, as if it was nothing. Gareth pursed his lips sourly, Kurt noticed, obviously still not over the fact that he didn’t get the lead role. “And this is Peter and Rich.” The two other guys at the table waved at him disinterestedly. They were obviously very much a couple, more interested in each other than anyone else in the room. “You remember Peter, right? He’s the show’s producer.”

       “Hey,” Kurt said, sitting down, feeling suddenly like he was crashing Blaine’s double date.

       “So how do you two know each other?” Gareth asked. “Blaine mentioned that he knew you, before you got the part.”

       “We’re old friends,” Kurt said, mostly sarcastically, but no one noticed. “We were in Glee club together in high school.”

       “Cute,” Gareth said. “Did you, like, take each other’s virginities? I heard that’s what kids do in Glee club.”

       Blaine snorted, mid-sip of his drink, which was some sort of alcohol mixed with some sort of soda. He was obviously tipsy, in a good natured way. Kurt wondered if he would have invited him tonight if he hadn’t been drinking. “We totally did,” Blaine giggled. “You’re a psychic, Gareth.”

       Kurt was unamused, but he decided to make the best of it, like a true New Yorker. “I think I need a drink.”

       “Oh! Duh! What do you want? I’ll get it for you.” Blaine said, and Gareth shot him an annoyed look, which Kurt enjoyed.

       “Why don’t you get those shots for the table?”

       “All right!” Blaine said, excitedly, and ran off towards the bar.

       The silence that fell upon the table after Blaine went off to the bar was heavy with resentment. Gareth was starring Kurt down. _I really don’t have time for this guy_ , Kurt thought. So he looked away, and glanced around the club. A man by the bar caught his eye, mostly because he was already staring at Kurt when Kurt looked his way. Their eyes met and Kurt blushed, smiled, and looked away.

       “Don’t mind Gareth,” Peter said. “He and Blaine have only been official for two days and he’s already a possessive little bitch.” Gareth seethed at Peter, but said nothing.

       _Two days_ , Kurt thought. _Interesting._

       “We’ve been practically dating for months, though,” Gareth said defensively, as if he could read Kurt’s mind. He looked at Kurt directly while he said this although Kurt remained silent, unmoved. “I was an understudy in _Hairspray_.”

       Kurt smiled. “Cool,” he said. _This guy has nothing on me_ , he thought, feeling smugly pleased. All of the jealousy he felt when Blaine said he had a boyfriend melted away. He wasn’t jealous of Gareth, because he knew how jealous Gareth was of him...The New York-ness of him, his clothes, his past with Blaine, his talent. It felt kind of nice.

Blaine returned with the shots and Kurt grabbed one without speaking, letting it go fast down his throat, filling his body with warmth. “Thanks,” he said, his face puckering in disgust at the taste.

       Blaine sat down, took his own shot with slightly less enthusiasm. The rest of the table joined in. “That guy’s staring at me,” Kurt thought aloud, his eyes drifting towards the man at the bar, who was half-facing their table.

       “He’s practically holding up a sign asking you to walk over,” Rich said, sounding mildly impressed.

       “I don’t know,” Kurt said. “He could be looking at one of you guys.”

       “No. He’s looking at you,” Blaine said, deadpan. “You should go talk to him.”

       “Um. Okay. In a few minutes. Maybe he’ll buy me more shots,” Kurt said.

       “Smart man,” Peter said.

       Kurt gave a little wave to the man at the bar, who grinned and waved back.

       “I want to dance,” Blaine said, a slight slur and a whiny twinge in his voice. He poked Gareth in the ribs. “G, dance with me, please?”

       “I hate dancing,” Gareth said.

       Blaine let out a dejected groan. “This happens every time we go out. You won’t dance with me, and you won’t let me dance with other guys…”

       “Uh oh. Trouble in paradise,” Rich said.

       “It’s only been two days!” Peter said.

       Kurt swallowed hard, his mouth feeling dry. “I’ll just go see about him now,” he said, standing up. He thought he saw Blaine give him a sad look as he got up to leave the table. _Well,_ Kurt thought, _that’s what you get for trying to make me jealous, Blaine._

       The guy at the bar was facing away from him now, and Kurt felt a little shy, still, but he made the whole show of walking up to him, so…

       He tapped the man on the shoulder, and smiled charmingly. “Hi, I’m Kurt.”

       “Adrian.”

       “Cool,” Kurt said, and a short awkward silence followed. Adrian pulled out the chair next to him.

       “You want to sit, Kurt?”

       Kurt nodded, and sat down.

“What are you drinking?”

“Tequila,” Kurt said, batting his eyelashes.

 

After a few more rounds of drinks, the small talk between Kurt and Adrian ran out. Adrian took to complimenting him, which was nice.

“You’re gorgeous. I could eat you up, I swear,” Adrian said. He leaned into Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt blushed. He smelled nice, musky, like woodsy cologne, and he had nice, solid arm muscles, and Kurt was lonely. Kurt was so lonely. _Fuck Blaine for having a boyfriend_ , he thought.

       “Let’s dance,” Kurt suggested. He lightly touched Adrian’s arm, and squeezed it gently.

       He was cute, and it would not have been the first time he hooked up with someone at a bar, although he tried not to make a habit of it. He felt the spark with this guy, although it was probably the alcohol. Adrian’s idea of dancing was clumsy full-body grinding, and it didn’t even seem silly, which was definitely the alcohol. Kurt didn’t put up a fight when Adrian kissed him, and he wasn’t even thinking of Blaine. He was thinking of how warm it was to be in somebody’s arms again, and it didn’t matter who it was. Before long they were pulsing together with the music, kissing. Adrian kissed his neck before leaning into his ear and whispering, “Do you want to get of here?”

       Kurt giggled, feeling flushed with arousal and the giddiness of attention. “Like where?”

       Adrian gripped Kurt’s belt buckle for a second, let it go, teasing him. “Like the back seat of my car.”      

       Kurt blushed, and shook his head. “Every time I come here somebody tries to grope me in the back seat of a car. I’ve only been here twice, but still.”

       “Is that a no?”

       “Yeah. Sorry. Can I give you my number, instead?”

       Adrian shrugged, indifferent. “Sure.” They had completely stopped dancing, and an awkward exchange of phone numbers followed, although Kurt knew this guy wasn’t going to call.

       “I’m going to go back to my friends,” Kurt said. “Bye. Nice meeting you.”

       “You too, beautiful,” Adrian said, and walked away, back to his seat at the bar.

       Kurt walked back to where Blaine, Peter and Rich were sitting. Gareth was nowhere to be found. “Hey, New York loverboy,” Peter said. “We thought for a second we were all going to have to watch you getting impregnated on the dance floor.”

       Kurt slumped into his chair. “Yeah, well.” He refused to elaborate any further. “Where’s Gareth?”

       There was an awkward silence. Tonight seemed to be full of them. Kurt wished he had stayed home. “He left,” Blaine said, his voice dull, but laced with an unmistakable anger. He had definitely sobered up, but Kurt felt as though the room was spinning.

       After that Peter and Rich said it was getting late, and they were going to get going. Blaine and Kurt were left alone.

       “I’m really drunk,” Kurt said, finally.

       “I’ve never seen you do so many shots. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do a shot, actually.”

       Kurt folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them like a pillow. “I can’t drive home.”

       “Gareth was my ride, but he left. Want to split a cab?”

       “Yes please,” Kurt said in a small, child-like voice, and Blaine reached across the table, and patted his head.

 

Blaine called the cab, and led Kurt into it. It felt nice to be taken care of. He always felt so safe with Blaine. Time hadn't changed that.

       Kurt yawned, and looked out the window. "I'm so tired." The alcohol had long since met its high and was dragging him down. Blaine was silent, staring straight ahead. Kurt glanced at him, then away, feeling ashamed.

       "I'm sorry," he said.

       "I'm not mad at you," Blaine replied, his voice soft. Forgiving. He was mad, Kurt knew, but he didn't want Kurt to feel bad, and that was strangely touching.

       "Oh. You seem mad."

       "Gareth and I had a fight."

       "About me?"

       Blaine smirked, but avoided Kurt's gaze. "That's a little self-involved, don't you think?"

       Kurt yawned again in response. "He doesn't like me."

       "No. He doesn't. He's jealous because he knows we used to be together. I told him that he wants more from me than I can give him, and he left, so I guess that was officially my shortest relationship."

       "I think I had my shortest relationship tonight, too." That got a laugh out of Blaine, at least.

       "I don't know if I would call that a relationship--although it did look as though he was about to start licking your face, for a minute."

       "I liked it," Kurt said, truthfully. "That guy was so sleazy, but he had arm muscles, and it's been a while for me."

       Blaine raised his eyebrow.

       "There's this guy, Paul, in New York, but we've been taking a break because he's in love with me and I was just keeping him around for sex, and so I didn't have to go to parties alone."

       Blaine nodded, understanding.

       "Anyway, it has been long since I've had a good tongue bath." The cab pulled up to the Hummel household, and Kurt took some cash out of his wallet, and put in Blaine's hand. "Thanks for inviting me, Blaine. I had a lot of fun. I'll see you at rehearsal."

       "Good night," Blaine said, and he looked at Kurt, whose hand was still on the door handle. Blaine leaned in, and they hugged, and as Kurt began to pull away Blaine held onto him, and kissed him once, on the cheek. Kurt accepted the small kiss, and said, very quietly, "Good night, Blaine."

 

Part II

_July_

 

i

There was one thing Blaine Anderson knew about himself: He was good at pretending.

       His therapist, Dr. Marsha O'Connell, who told him just to call her Marsha, or, Dr. Marsha if he was feeling more formal, asked him to write a statement of himself. It was supposed to be about what he thought was an important part of him that is often overlooked. "You talk a lot about how think other people see you," she said. "I want to know about what you see in yourself." Blaine thought it was a little silly; he was so busy, between work, and the theater... _Maybe I could write a song instead,_ he thought, but that would have been even more time consuming, and there was the whole fact that he hadn't been able to write a song in three years.

       Blaine sat across from her as she read his statement, fidgeting in the leather chair he was sat in. He watched her take a note in her notepad. Without looking up, she said, "Do you feel like an actor in your own life?"

       "Yes," he said. "Something like that."

       "Hmm," she said again. "Do you think it affects your relationships?"

       "I think it sometimes ruins them," he said. Marsha nodded, but said nothing; it was her signal for him to keep talking. "I think a lot of people think I'm perfect when they meet me, but I'm just good at talking to people. Then, I'm good at acting like the perfect friend, and the perfect boyfriend, but I'm not."

       "Who is?"

       "No one," Blaine agreed. "But I feel like I let people down, when they realize what I really am."

       "Maybe. Or maybe they’ll take the opportunity to get to know the real you: someone imperfect, but worthy of love."

       When Blaine first moved back to Lima, he found an apartment, and he found a job, and nothing else. He did what he was supposed to do and nothing more. He had nowhere else to go. He had nothing else to do. He just survived. He would go to the school, work with the kids, pretend to be his normal, cheerful self. Ever very night he came back to his apartment, laid in the dark on his bedroom floor, and stared at the ceiling. He didn't feel like a blank slate, he only felt blank. Empty. He lost a lot of weight. He could have blamed it all on his failed music career, his writer's block, but there was nothing to blame, really, when he sank into the depression. Nothing but the empty void inside him, and that had been there for what felt like forever.

       A few months after moving, his brother Cooper came to visit him, unannounced. Blaine had left his door unlocked, and he woke up to Cooper staring at him. "Why are you sleeping on the floor when your bed is right there, little bro?" he asked.

       "I like it down here," Blaine said.

       "Okay." Cooper, to his credit, did not judge. Instead, he offered valuable advice. "In LA, we see therapists for that. Remember?"

       And so he saw a therapist. He got on anti-depressants. He made an effort to make friends. He met Peter and Rich at the Lima Bean when they were putting up fliers for the new organization they were starting, to promote the arts in Lima. He began to have a passion for his work at the middle school, where he inspired young kids to express themselves creatively. He joined Peter and Rich in trying to start up the old theater again, and they were successful, mostly because Blaine still had a lot of connections in Ohio.

       He was full of life, it seemed, but it wasn't true. He was performing. He still felt blank, empty. Like something essential was missing.

       Marsha was still talking about how maybe he was being self-defeating, and keeping people at a distance because of his own insecurity. In fact, she went on, maybe if he looked back, the fatal flaw in many of his quote unquote 'ruined' relationships was his own insecurity, the same insecurity that was making him feel like he let everyone down somehow. Maybe there was no fault in his own character, just the perception that there was.

       Perception. That was one of Marsha's favorite words.

       "Kurt's back in town," Blaine blurted out, interrupting her. "I've been hanging out with him. He's starring in my next play."

       "Kurt? The ex-boyfriend?"

       "One of them," Blaine said defensively. Although, maybe, yes: Kurt was _the_ ex-boyfriend. It certainly was the longest relationship he had ever had; all guys post-Kurt only stayed around for a few months, sensing, Blaine knew, that he would never love them, not really. That part of him left when Kurt left.

       "The one you have the reoccurring dreams about?"

       "Yes. That Kurt."

       "That's good," Marsha said. "You can finally get closure, perhaps."

       "Do I deserve closure?" Blaine asked.

       "Yes, Blaine. You deserve closure. Everyone does."

       "Really?" Blaine asked skeptically. "Everyone? Like, even murderers?"

       "You're not a murderer, are you?"

       "No, but I feel like I'm just as bad. I cheated on him. I ruined what we had, I..." Marsha was writing something down, and Blaine twitched, agitated. "What are you writing?"

       "I wrote: 'Exaggerated feelings of guilt from long past conflict' and 'has trouble letting go'," Marsha said, calmly.

       "Oh. I didn't think you'd actually tell me."

       "Blaine, I think that not only do you deserve closure, you need it. You're going to need to forgive yourself for what you did as a teenager. We all have to do that, at some point."

       "I need Kurt to forgive me," Blaine said. "He never has. I can tell."

       "You can't force him."

       "I know." He sighed, looked at the clock. Time was almost up, and he still had so much broken up inside of him that needed smoothing out. "He told me that we shouldn't work together, because there were too many messy feelings. I panicked, because I didn't want to lose him again so quickly after getting him back into my life."

       "What did you do?"

       "I told him I had no feelings for him. I pretended." He swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. He didn’t even mention Gareth, who had loved him for months, who Blaine only bothered asking to be his boyfriend so that Kurt would see him completely moved on. "I guess I lied.”

       Marsha nodded solemnly. "In time, you can find a way to be honest with him,” she said. “I think you should come up with a new statement,” she added, ripping out a piece of paper from her notepad and handing it to him, fresh and empty. “Something hopeful, maybe.”

 

ii

Blaine walked into the theater for the play’s first day of rehearsals full of equal parts nerves and excitement. They had casted the female lead, Laura, last minute after a round of call backs. Jess was a small, friendly girl attending Lima Community College, and though she had to work a little on her stage presence, she’d be a perfect Laura.

       The night before, Gareth called him, telling him he felt that Blaine wasn’t serious about their relationship, and Blaine told him he was right. Gareth hung up on him, and Blaine hoped secretly that he would drop out of the play, but Gareth loved the spotlight too much.

       Blaine liked to come to rehearsals early. He loved the silence of the auditorium, the dim of the lights. It made him feel calm, blank in a way that was peaceful instead of sad. When Blaine walked into the auditorium, Kurt was already there, standing on the dim stage, his back to the empty seats. He had his head bowed, his script in one hand.

       Blaine walked up to the stage quietly. When the sound of his feet hitting the small set of stairs leading to the stage echoed off the walls, Kurt spun around to face him. A strand of hair fell loosely over his forehead. They looked at each other for a silent moment. Blaine walked up the stairs, onto the stage, and Kurt took a step back. He kept doing that, Blaine noticed, as if he was afraid Blaine would hurt him if he got too close.

       _Maybe I would_ , Blaine thought, although, as always, he had no intention to, wanted nothing in the world except to never hurt Kurt Hummel. But it happened, and he trusted himself as little as Kurt trusted him.

       It occurred to him that what was making him nervous was the hopes he had; he hoped for a good production, but he also hoped that with the play a healing would occur between him and Kurt. The nervousness came whenever he saw Kurt and he realized that maybe they wanted different things.

       “I wanted to come early to go over the script,” Kurt said.

       Blaine smiled kindly. “You shouldn’t worry. You have this in the bag, Kurt.”

       Kurt’s expression softened and he stood up straighter. “Thanks.” He brushed the loose strand of hair away from his face; Blaine’s eyes followed his hands, entranced, as always, by the way Kurt moved and carried himself. “I’m a little rusty, you know.”

       Blaine nodded, stepped closer. “I couldn’t tell, seeing you audition. You were meant for the stage.”

       There was an adorable flush of color in Kurt’s cheeks. Blaine remembered it well, even though it felt like ages since he had seen it. Flattery, Blaine remembered, always put Kurt Hummel in the mood. Kurt smiled, and looked out into the imaginary audience, a dreamy expression on his face. “I did miss it.” He looked back to his script. “If I mess this up, it’ll be the biggest embarrassment of my life, and I’ve been tossed in dumpsters. Can you imagine the blogs? ‘Vogue Wunderkind Quit Job to Fail at Community Theater’.” He shook his head in horror. “I’m a little nervous.”

       Blaine walked closer, and patted him on the shoulder. “You’re going to be amazing.”

       The doors creeped open, and they both turned to see Gareth walking up the aisles. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, grimacing.

       “You weren’t. Aren’t,” Blaine said quickly.

       Kurt looked from Blaine, to Gareth, back to Blaine, who gave him a sheepish smile.

       Gareth smiled venomously at Kurt. He was practically baring his teeth. Blaine felt it best to get in between them. “Okay, Gareth, how about you go have a seat until Jess and Marie get here?” Blaine turned, once more, to Kurt. “We’ll do a read-through of your opening monologue, for now. I saw the end of it when you auditioned, but I’d like to see you do the whole thing to get a feel for how you inhabit the character. We’re still working on set design, and it depends so much on Tom--it’ll help me to see you in action.”

       Gareth made his way to a seat in the second row, where he sat, crossing his arms. Blaine walked down and sat next to him. He took a deep breath, ignoring the hateful stares Gareth was shooting him, and focused on Kurt, whose hands were clasped together in front of him.

       “What do I have to do with the set design, again? I want to make sure I do it right.”

       “Everything,” Blaine said. “You’re the star, Kurt. Laura will have the audience’s sympathy, but you’re the anchor, here. You’re leading the whole show. But don’t question yourself--do it how you did it in your audition. Trust your instincts.” He paused, looking Kurt up and down, and smiling sadly. “I trust them. Trust me.”

       “That might be difficult,” Kurt said, laughing bitterly. They both ignored how Gareth rolled his eyes, and Kurt cleared his throat. “But, here goes.”

 

iii

Fourth of July was on a Friday that year, and it happened to come at the end of their first week of rehearsals. Kurt thought nothing of it until he was getting his stuff together to leave rehearsal that Thursday night, making small talk with Jess as they walked out. “Hey, Kurt,” Blaine said, looking awkwardly at Jess. “Jess. Good job tonight. Kurt, can I talk to you something in private? I mean, can I talk to you about something?” Blaine said, flustered. Gareth was leaving, too, looking over his shoulder at them, scowling.

       Jess smiled. “Good night, guys. See you next week.”

       “Bye, Jess.” Kurt liked her. She was sweet. They were becoming fast friends, despite the fact that Kurt was a few years older. She treated him with reverence, asking his opinion on guys and colleges she should transfer to next year, once she finished over at Lima Community College. He was actually starting to feel like her older brother, in a lot of ways.        

       Once the auditorium was empty except for the two of them, Blaine started again. “Are you doing anything tomorrow night?”

       Kurt stared at him, his eyes blinking rapidly. He clutched his messenger bag. “Does this have something to do with my performance? Do you want to do an extra rehearsal with me? Oh, god, am I terrible?”

       “Oh. No! Not at all.” Blaine took a step closer and patted him on the shoulder. “This actually isn’t about the play at all.”

       “Oh,” Kurt said, his face turning red.

       “You’re doing great, by the way,” Blaine added, talking with his hands, smiling his trademark Blaine Anderson grin. “I have complete confidence in you. Um, I just wanted to know if wanted to go see the fireworks with Peter and Rich and I. I would have asked Jess to come, too, but I didn’t want her to feel like a fifth wheel.”

       Kurt took a step back. “Well, um, why are you asking me?”

       “Because I didn’t want to feel like a third wheel?” Blaine said, laughing weakly. “And I figured you didn’t have plans, being sort of new in town...I don’t know, can you be new in town in your own hometown?”

       “Yes,” Kurt said. “I think so.” He shrugged. “Sure, why not. As long as it’s not like, a date, or anything.”

       “Oh, god, of course not,” Blaine said, laughing a nervous, forced laugh. Kurt would have almost thought it cute if he weren’t so weary of Blaine. “I just hate feeling like an intruder on Peter and Rich’s dates. That’s how it always feels when we hang out.”

       Kurt nodded. “Sure. Pick me up at...what time do fireworks start?”

       “8. I’ll pick you up at 8.”

 

They had all gotten ice cream and sat on blankets in the grass, waiting for the fireworks to start. Peter announced that he and Rich were totally going to make out during the grand finale, and all the conservatives in the park were just going to have to deal. They also moved their blanket away from Kurt and Blaine’s, behind a tree, “For privacy.”

       “This feels like a date,” Kurt said, licking his vanilla cone.

       “I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were going to leave us like this.” Blaine glanced over at Peter, his face becoming lighter in understanding. “It was Peter’s idea for me to invite you, actually, so maybe he is trying to set us up.”

       “That’s stupid,” Kurt said. He took a bite of his waffle cone, and looked up at the sky.

       “It is stupid,” Blaine agreed, nodding a little too vigorously. “But, like I said, we’re fine, right? All those old feelings…”

       “Gone,” Kurt said.

       “Exactly. You have ice cream on your nose, by the way.”

       They were silent for the rest of the night, awkwardly waiting for fireworks. Kurt had never liked the Fourth of July, anyway.

       On the ride home, Kurt felt a heavy sadness overtake him. It _was_ stupid. Everything about what they were doing was stupid--pretending like what they had was nothing, when it used to be everything. “Can you stop the car? I need to ask you something.”

       Blaine nodded, unfazed, and pulled over. They were on a dark and empty street, and all they could hear were crickets chirping when Blaine turned down the radio and turned to him. “What’s up?”

       “Why are you in Lima, Blaine? What happened in L.A.?”

       “My record label dropped me,” Blaine said, nonchalant.

       “And you just gave up? Just like that? I keep thinking about it,” Kurt said, feeling self-conscious, admitting that yes, he thought about Blaine. He thought about Blaine a lot. Even before they had met again in Lima, Blaine was always somewhere in the back of his mind. It was always: _What’s Blaine doing right now?_ Sometimes, in darker moments, it was **_Who_** _is Blaine doing right now?_ He wondered a lot about Blaine, in the last couple of years, when it seemed as though Blaine had fallen off the face of the planet. He hated Blaine Anderson for breaking his heart, but he couldn’t stop from wondering: _Is Blaine happy? Is he okay?_

       “It doesn’t seem like you, that’s all. Performing is your life.”

       There was a long silence, and Kurt worried that he had said too much, overstepped a boundary, and ruined everything—that Blaine would kick him out of the play. But then Blaine spoke. “I had writer’s block. I thought it was only going to last a little while, that I was just disappointed about the label dropping me, but I guess it started a lot sooner than that. I moved to Lima because I thought maybe I needed closure, about some stuff.”

       _That’s why I’m here, too,_ Kurt suddenly realized.

       “But then one day I laid down on my bedroom floor, and I couldn’t get up.”

       Kurt laughed, and then realized that it wasn’t funny. “What?”

       “I never meant to stay here,” Blaine admitted. “But I guess I have this problem with clinical depression? And I have a job here, now. So I haven’t written a song or picked up my guitar in three years.”

       “Oh,” Kurt said.

       “I’m seeing a therapist,” Blaine said, his face turning red. “I’m okay. She’s not really good about helping me get over my writer’s block.” His face scrunched up, like he was trying not to cry. “She thinks there are more important things wrong with me that we have to work on first, so I don’t think there really is a place for me in L.A. anymore.”

       He turned the radio back on and that song that goes _You got the music in you…_ was playing and the quiet of the car felt suffocating.

       Kurt broke the silence. “I have a therapist, too,” he said.

       “Oh. Cool.”    

       “Yeah, so, don’t be embarrassed or anything. Everyone in New York has one.”

       “In Lima, there’s like, this stigma.”

       “Yeah. I know.”

       “So I don’t really tell anyone. I know it’s probably surprising. There’s this Blaine Anderson that everyone knows, and he’s really cheerful all the time. I don’t know what it is. It’s like there’s this delay between who I am and how I act to the world, and it’s driving me crazy. And I can’t even tell my own mother I’m on Zoloft, because I’m sure she’ll be like, ‘Oh, Blaine! That’s not like you!’”

       Kurt found himself taking Blaine’s hand. “You’re the Blaine Anderson I know, and I think it’s okay,” he said. Blaine looked down at their hands entwined, and squeezed.

 

When he got back in the house, he saw that he had a voicemail from Rachel Berry. “Oh good,” he said, under his breath. “She remembers me.” He called her back.

       “YOU’RE HANGING OUT WITH BLAINE ANDERSON?” she screeched, as soon as she picked up. She started laughing maniacally. “That’s _perfect_.”

       “I left you that message weeks ago. Where have you been?”

       “I was on sabbatical, just like you! In Mexico. I left my cell phone at home. I was doing a technological cleanse—trying to clear my head. I feel wonderful,” she said, a dramatic twang to her voice. He imagined her saying the same stuff to a late night talk show host. “Although that might also be the juice cleanse. Anyway, dish!”

       Kurt sat down on his bed. “I’m starring in his production of _The Glass Menagerie_.”

       She laughed. “I knew it!”

       “You knew he was behind the Lima Community Theater the whole time, didn’t you? That’s why you recommended it to me.”

       “I plead the fifth,” she said, and Kurt rolled his eyes, even though she couldn’t see him. “I miss Blaine! I want him back in the gang, like old times.”

       “Are we a gang, still?” Kurt said bitterly. “I hardly ever talk to you.”

       “I know,” Rachel said, seriously. “I’m sorry. I’m seeing you next month, aren’t I? For the big benefit show?”

       Kurt gasped. “Oh, no! I forgot all about it.”

       “You’re going, aren’t you? I know you’re in deep with all this Lima stuff, but you have to make an appearance. Everyone’s going to be there to see your designs. I heard Cameron Diaz is going to be there.”

        “I hope someone better than Cameron Diaz will show up. This show is going to be huge for my line.”

       “You sound so bored, saying that. Other designers would be hysterical. I can’t believe you just forgot.”

       Kurt sighed. “Yeah, well, I left that all behind for a reason. Maybe I’ll just skip it. My clothes are there. That’s what matters.”

       “But I want to see you!” Rachel whined. “Bring Blaine. Please?”

       There was something appealing about bringing Blaine to one of his fashion shows. He had this revenge fantasy after Blaine cheated on him, about Blaine one day wearing a Kurt Hummel design, all the while feeling steeped in regret for ever hurting such a talented ma. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll ask him, but I can’t promise anything.”

       Kurt kicked off his shoes, and fell asleep. He dreamed he was back in New York, and he and Blaine were at his fashion show. Blaine was watching the models strut around in Kurt’s designs, tears streaming down his face, and Cameron Diaz, who was sitting next to him, offered him a tissue. “It’s okay,” she said. “I have clinical depression, too.”

       He woke up with a start and groaned. He had to stop dreaming about Blaine. He just had to do this play, get a lot of good press in the local newspapers, return to New York and leave Blaine Anderson behind him, for good this time. That was the plan.

       He picked up his phone and texted Rachel, thinking it’d be forever before she responded.

       _I’m still in love with him_ , he wrote.

       To his surprise, she texted right back: _I know. Duh._

Everyone knows, he thought, except Blaine. And he had to keep it that way.

 

Part III

_August_

 

i

The next few weeks were a blur. When Kurt wasn’t rehearsing, he was at home, in his pajamas, watching daytime television. It was pathetic.

       His and Blaine’s relationship had been friendly but professional ever since the night they held hands in the car. It felt so silly, Kurt thought, looking back. Like high school: _I held his hand in the car._ In the light of day, everything went back to normal, and it seemed like it was the same for Blaine.

       Now that the play was only three weeks away, the anxiety in Blaine was visible every day at rehearsals. He was constantly on the phone, talking to Monica about props or ad space in local newspapers or designers who were doing, as Blaine said, “a shit poor job” of creating good enough posters to hang around town.

       There was a week left until Kurt’s big benefit show, and he hadn’t brought it up to Blaine yet. The day he came into rehearsals determined to bring it up, tensions were already running high.

       When Kurt arrived, Blaine and Jess were talking in angry whispers. Marie, the play’s Amanda, stood on the stage with her arm crossed.

       “Hey guys. Sorry I’m late.”

       Jess let out an exasperated groan. “Great. He’s here. Now you can pay attention to your favorite.” She burst into tears.

       “No, no!” Blaine said. He looked at Kurt, his brow furrowed. “We’re going to focus on you.”

       ‘I just--I’m going to mess it up, I know it. I don’t feel like I’m doing a good job, and every time I try to get your advice, you’re staring at _him._ Telling him what a good job he’s doing.”

       Kurt was genuinely shocked. Was Blaine really that focused on him? He hadn’t really noticed, but maybe that’s because he was more focused on Blaine than anyone else, too.

       “She’s got a point, Blaine,” Marie said, an air of indifference in her voice. She was a Lima middle school teacher who had taught the play a thousand times. She would do a good job either way.

       Blaine looked at Jess, and then to Kurt, whose eyes were wide.

       “Kurt, maybe you should take the day off or something.”

       Jess sniffed, wiped her eyes, and nodded. “Sorry.”

       “No. It’s okay,” Kurt said, taking a step back. “I’ll practice outside, in the hall, and you guys can work in here. After rehearsal, I just have something to ask you about, Blaine.”

       Blaine nodded, and Jess rolled her eyes.

 

Kurt waited in the hallway, going over the notes in the margins of his script. His mind kept wandering. Through the walls he could hear Jess’s voice, going over her lines again and again, and the slow murmur of Blaine giving her feedback.

       When the rehearsal was over, Jess came out first. “Hey, Kurt. I just wanted to say sorry about how I acted in there.” Her eyes were still rimmed red from crying, and Kurt stood up from the spot on the tile where he was sitting.

       “It’s okay, Jess. It’s just stress.”

       Jess nodded. “Yeah. I’ve only ever been in high school plays, so this is kind of, like, scary to me. My aunt is flying in from Canada to see it and everything. And it’s like, Blaine is so in love with you. It’s annoying.” Kurt blushed, but Jess laughed. “I know you two used to date,” she whispered. “I’ve read the blogs.’

       “Oh, good,” Kurt said, sarcastically. “The blogs.”

       Her expression softened and she swatted Kurt’s arm. “It’s cute, but we’re both the stars of the play, you know?”

       “You’re going to be amazing,” Kurt said. “I know you are.”

       She smiled sweetly. “Thanks. See you next week?”

       Kurt nodded, and Blaine opened the door, talking to Marie about wigs.

       “I think it’s good for Amanda to have gray hair,” he said. “I don’t even know if they had hair dye in the 1930s.”

       Marie rolled her eyes. “Very well.” She patted her obviously dyed brown hair and made her way out.

       Kurt and Blaine were left alone in the hallway. “Gareth didn’t show up,” Blaine said. “This is the second rehearsal he’s skipped. I swear to god, if he ruins my play, I’m going to…” He hesitated for a second. “Egg his car or something. I don’t even know.”

       Kurt nodded. “I think it’ll be okay. His part isn’t that difficult, anyway. He’ll show up for the performances. He would never let an opportunity to get attention escape him.” Blaine grinned, but Kurt felt himself flush red. “Sorry.”    

       Blaine shrugged his apology off. “I dated him for two days.” He shook his head, as if embarrassed that it had gone on even that long.

       “Gareth seems to think you two had a longer history than that.”

       Blaine shrugged. “I slept with him a few times during _Hairspray_. Because, I don’t know, I kind of liked the attention. But I think I just ended up leading him on. But I don’t think he really ever loved me, just the idea of me.”

       Kurt nodded. “I feel that same way about Paul,” he said.

       “Who’s Paul?”

       “Oh, um, the guy I was sort of with back in New York. I told you about him.”

       “Oh. Oh yeah.” There was an awkward silence. Kurt looked at Blaine, noticing the dark circles under his eyes for the first time. “What did you want to ask me?”

       “I wanted to know if it was okay if I skipped town for the weekend. I’ll be back before next rehearsal.”

       Blaine nodded. “Sure. Where are you going?”

       They started walking out to the parking lot. The sun had gone down, and there was a late summer chill in the air.

       “I’m going back to New York, for a benefit fashion show.” He scratched his neck, and when he brought his hand back down, it brushed against Blaine’s, and Kurt could feel the hairs on his arm sticking up, as if they were all saying, _Yes, please!_

       “Cool,” Blaine said, getting out his keys. “Well, have fun.”

       “Wait! I actually was wondering if you wanted to go with me. You can sleep on my couch. Rachel’s going to be there, and she really wants to see you.”

       Blaine smiled, but his smile quickly fell. “Oh, I don’t know...I have all this stuff I have to prepare. Like, the whole poster situation is a total disaster right now.”

       Kurt nodded, about to tell him to not worry about it, but then he took a step closer, and was honest. “I really want you to come with me,” he said, softly.

       “Okay.” They looked at each other for a long moment, as if they were daring each other to do something: What, Kurt pretended not to know. “Then I’ll go.”

       “Great!” Kurt said spritely, skipping away from Blaine to his car. “I’ll buy the plane tickets. I’ll text you. Okay?”

       He got into his car and drove away, not waiting for a response, listening only to the beating of his heart, which was saying _Run, run, run._

 

ii

Kurt had texted the night before that he’d pick Blaine up at 8am. The minute he woke up that morning, Blaine felt sick with nerves.

He hadn’t been back to New York since he had dropped out of NYADA. In fact, the whole city reminded him of those days: pretending to belong in a school full of people who could never know the real him, always pining after the boy he had lost, who was always so close but so far away.

       And he couldn’t ignore the way he and Kurt had been working together. They would stay late after rehearsals discussing Kurt’s role, and sometimes other stuff. It was beginning to feel like the old days again, when they were best friends. It was terrifying.

       Blaine didn’t want to lose Kurt again. The thought of it made him sick, so much so that he had been having trouble sleeping lately, his mind racing with thoughts about what was going to happen when Kurt went back to New York.

       When Kurt had asked Blaine to come with him for the weekend, they exchanged a _look._ Blaine really didn’t know what was going on between them, lately. His stomach was doing flips, he realized, and it actually felt _good_. He didn’t remember the last time he had felt something, anything, like that. It felt like a feeling from years ago; a whole different lifetime.

Kurt buzzed his apartment building’s buzzer at 7:45. “Shit,” Blaine said under his breath. He wasn’t quite finished packing, and he was only wearing a pair of jeans. He thought, briefly, about putting a shirt on, but decided against it. He _had_ been doing push-ups lately.

       “Come on up,” Blaine said, pressing the button that unlocked the gate.

       A minute later Kurt was at his door, bright-eyed and holding two coffees. “Good morning,” he sang. “I’m so excited!”

       “Happy to go back to the city?”

       “Yeah!” he said, cheerfully. “Sorry I’m early. I got breakfast. I have bagels in the car. You ready?” He pushed a coffee into Blaine’s hand, and Blaine felt a sudden, nostalgic urge to kiss him.

       “Not quite.”

       Kurt’s eyes lingered down to Blaine’s chest, and he blushed. “Take your time,” he said. He looked around Blaine’s shabby apartment. “What a nice home you have,” he said, his voice high, and Blaine laughed.

       “You don’t have to lie.” He walked over to his suitcase, took out a t-shirt, and threw it on. “I’m pretty much done. I just…” He felt a little embarrassed, but he wanted to be honest. He had to be honest, because if he wasn’t he would just end up looking like a fool. “I don’t really know what people wear to fancy fashion events?”

       “Oh,” Kurt said, disappointed. “I remember you being so stylish.” It was the first time either of them had really brought up the fact that they were different people than they used it be: it was so true it was visible.

       “Mostly I just wore clothes you said looked nice on me,” Blaine reminded him.

       “Oh, right,” Kurt said, smiling. “I remember now. Well, in that case, don’t worry about it. I’m a designer, honey--I can get you something nice to wear.”

       Blaine felt flooded with relief. “Okay. Great. Let’s go!”             

      

On the plane, Kurt fell asleep, his head resting on Blaine’s shoulder. When he woke up, he lifted his head, only slightly, and looked at Blaine, dazed, as if he wasn’t sure where he was. “Hey,” Blaine said, softly. Kurt dropped his head back down, nuzzling his shoulder for one split second, and then lifted himself up, looking straight ahead, like nothing ever happened at all.

 

They got to New York with just enough time to head over to Kurt’s apartment to get ready. Blaine took a shower, and when he got out, Kurt had laid out a suit for Blaine to try.

“It’s one of my designs,” Kurt said. “So it’s good.”

Blaine laughed. “It’s beautiful, Kurt.” He held the label in between his hands, drinking in Kurt’s name with his fingertips. “So, you were kind of vague about what kind of benefit this is,” Blaine said.

“Was I?” Kurt said. He ran a lint roller down his blazer, eyeing himself in the mirror. “Well, it’s a fashion show, for my fall collection. It’s the last thing I designed. It seems like a million years ago. All the proceeds are going to preserve wildlife, or something. I don’t know. My team handles all the details.” He turned to Blaine, who was looking at him in amazement, and smiled.

“You make me feel so lazy and unaccomplished,” Blaine said honestly.

Kurt shrugged. “I try.”

       Kurt stood in front of Blaine and straightened his tie. “You look good. Too bad tonight is for my women’s line. You’d be a great model.” He looked Blaine in the eye and added, “I mean, you don’t really have cheekbones, but…”

       Blaine smiled sweetly at him, loving the feeling of his hands on him. _Don’t be an idiot, Blaine--he will never love you again, you know that, stop getting your hopes up_ , he told himself. He also knew from years of experience that loving Kurt Hummel was not something he could train himself to stop.

       “We’re going to be sitting in the front row. Don’t be nervous,” Kurt said, reading Blaine’s mind. “You’re my date. Everyone’s going to think you’re cool.”

       _My date._ Blaine’s stupid, hoping heart beat in his chest, as if it were trying to get out and reach for Kurt by itself. Blaine opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he could say nothing, except, “I love you.”

       Kurt finished straightening his tie, ignoring him, although Blaine could see a rise of pink in his cheeks. “I knew you were lying when you said there were no feelings left here.”

       Blaine nodded. “I’m a liar. I’m sorry.”

       Kurt stared at him with a steel indifference. The doorbell rang. “That’s Rachel,” he said. He pulled on the lapel of Blaine’s blazer, and kissed him, fast and strong. As quickly as it had happened, it was over. Kurt was taking a step back and brushing his suit clean. “That was nothing,” he said, although his voice was high and breathless. “I just get really turned on by guys wearing my designs.”

       “Uh, no problem,” Blaine said, dazed and overjoyed. He followed Kurt to the door to greet Rachel, feeling as though he was walking on a cloud.

 

Kurt felt calm when he went to the door to let Rachel in. He felt completely out of control of his own body, but other than that, he was okay. “Hey, Rach,” he said, trying not to feel offended that she ran right past him, screaming, “Blaine! Give me a hug!”

       “We have some time,” Kurt said. “I need a drink before we go anywhere.”

 

Two drinks later, Kurt, Blaine, and Rachel were in a cab to the event. “This is so great, you guys. This is just like the old days,” Rachel was saying.

       “Yeah,” Kurt said. He took Blaine’s hand. Absolutely no control over his body. He kind of liked it, in a way. It felt good, to reach for Blaine, and for Blaine to be there. The last few years of his life had been constant reaching for nothing. His heart ached in his chest as Blaine squeezed his hand back silently; he felt like he was going to die when Blaine started to rub circles on his hand with his thumb. Kurt was wondering why he had let this happen, the one thing he told himself not to do, letting himself forgive Blaine Anderson for breaking his heart. But he had to. He knew he had to.

       Rachel was giggling at the two of them, tipsy and happy, and Blaine was looking at him as if he were a magical creature, about to fly away.

 

They got to the event with only enough time to be seated for the show. Kurt was glad. He didn’t want any of the assistants coming up to him, fretting about if this scarf looked best on this girl or if he preferred a smoky eye or natural makeup for that look...he used to find it all exciting, but being back in that world made him realize his heart just wasn’t in it anymore. A small, crazy part of him was wishing he had stayed in Lima, working on the play with Blaine. They could have maybe worked on stapling posters to light posts this weekend. Instead they were here, surrounded by people all in a contest of who could look more bored. Kurt loved the enthusiasm of theater. It’s the same enthusiasm he saw in Blaine the first day they met, and the enthusiasm that made him fall in love. Now Blaine was older and sadder, but there was still that light in him, the light Kurt could never seem to find in anyone else.

       The show went off without a hitch, but Kurt wasn’t really paying attention. He was distracted, the whole time, by the way Blaine watched intently, the way his eyes focused on Kurt’s designs as if they were the most important, beautiful things in the world.

       He was too busy battling with the ball of anxiety growing in his stomach, the fear he felt knowing that he loved Blaine, and that the last time he had loved Blaine it changed the way he saw the world entirely and then shattered everything.

 

After the show, they went to the lounge for the benefit cocktail party. People came up to him to congratulate him, to tell him how inspired his designs were. It felt good to be showered with praise, especially with Blaine by his side. It was sort of how he imagined his life being in the future, when he had thought about it in high school.

       He dragged Blaine and Rachel outside on the balcony. “I need some air,” he told them, snagging a bottle of champagne.

       They sat on the balcony, sipping champagne and drinking in the New York early night air. Rachel had been trying to catch Kurt’s eyes all night and he had ignored her, not wanting to explain himself just yet; he could hardly explain himself to himself. When Blaine went back inside to use the bathroom, Rachel seized the opportunity and jumped on Kurt as soon as they were alone.

       “You’re back together with Blaine!” she accused.

       “No,” he said, pretending to be indifferent to her excitement. He downed his glass of champagne.

       “You held hands in the car.”

       Kurt shrugged, trying to play it cool, but he looked at Rachel’s face and began to break down. “I can’t stop myself. I’m such an idiot.” He took a long gulp, straight from the bottle, and wrinkled his nose, the fuzziness tickling him.

       Rachel laughed at him. “Classy.”

       “He told me he loved me,” Kurt said softly. “Just out of nowhere, and I couldn’t stop myself from kissing him. I _believed_ him. After he cheated on me, whenever he told me he loved me, I didn’t believe him. But something has changed, and I believe him, and working on the play with him has been so much fun. And I love him, too, but I can’t be with him, because there’s always going to be _that_ hanging over us. Right?”

       Rachel shook her head. “It was so long ago, babe. We’re all different people now.”

       “I hope so.”

       She hugged him. “For what it’s worth, I think forgiveness and love go hand and hand.”

       “So you think I should go for it?”

       “I think you’re making it harder for yourself, by always wondering what it is you _should_ do. What do you want to do?”

       Kurt laughed. “I want to have sex with him tonight.”

       She clapped her hands. “There you go. I think you should do that. I wouldn’t tell you to get with someone I think would hurt you on purpose. I don’t think Blaine will ever hurt you again, if he could help it.”

       “Do you think he can help it?” Kurt asked.

       Rachel patted him on the shoulder. “No. Most people can’t help it. But he wants to be better for you.” She said it kind of sadly, like she was thinking of all the handsome jerks she had been dating for the past few years, and Kurt hugged her.

       “I love you, Rachel. Can we please live in the same city again sometime soon?”

       She laughed, hugging him back. “Sure, as long as you’re planning on moving out of Lima.”

       Blaine stepped back onto the balcony timidly, looking at them as if he could tell they had just been talking about him.

       “Come here, Blaine, we’re all hugging,” Rachel said, and Blaine walked towards them, grinning so sweetly that Kurt’s heart glowed with happiness, and they all hugged as though the last five years hadn’t happened at all, as though their hearts were just as unbroken as they were when they were young.

       But then the door to the balcony opened once again, and a man wearing a maroon tuxedo came out. _Damn his fashion sense_ , Kurt thought, pulling away from Blaine and Rachel. “Paul,” he said. “Hey.” He felt Blaine take a step back, looking at Paul and then back to Kurt.

       “Kurt,baby, I’ve been looking for you all night,” Paul said, walking towards them. “Hey Rachel,” he added quickly.

He reached out and hugged Kurt, who hugged him back, unenthusiastically. The last time he had seen Paul was a week before his last day at Vogue, and Kurt had told him that he didn’t see a future in their relationship. In true Paul fashion, he acted as if Kurt hadn’t said it at all.

       His relationship with Paul should have been perfect. He was so handsome, with short, black hair, big brown eyes. He was muscular and lean in all the right places, scruffy but not too scruffy. He was a writer at the New York Times Arts review, and he always told Kurt that he’d be one of the most important designers in the world one day, which Kurt knew was pure flattery and nothing more--but, still, Kurt liked Paul. Paul made him feel good. If things were different, Kurt would have taken Paul home the night of his benefit show and thought nothing of it--but things _were_ different.

       Paul was staring at Blaine, so Kurt took Paul’s arm gently. “Paul, this is Blaine.” He cleared his throat, and then added: “My boyfriend.”

       “Oh,” Paul said, his eyebrows raised.

       Blaine looked at Kurt, perplexed, then back to Paul, and nodded silently. Rachel grabbed the champagne bottle out of Kurt’s hands, giggled manically, and took a long sip.

 

iii

       After they dropped Rachel off at her hotel, the silence in the taxi was suffocating. Kurt stared at the back of the cab driver’s head, wondering if he was married. _Maybe I should ask_ , Kurt thought. _Maybe this man has some insights on whether love is something that can last_. _If it even should last. Someone has to know._ He looked nervously at Blaine, who was staring straight ahead.

       “So,” Blaine said.

       “Are you mad?” Kurt asked.

       “No. I’m just confused. That guy’s, like, what? Your fuck buddy? Or whatever? Excuse my language--I’m just not sure what else to call it. You told him I’m your boyfriend. I don’t even know where that _came_ from.”

       “I just didn’t want some big awkward scene,” Kurt explained. “With you and him sizing each other up. It’s not like that.”

       “Yeah. Because he’s just some guy you’re sleeping with--”

       “ _Was_ sleeping with. I told him I was done, but he won’t believe me until he sees me with somebody else.”

       “I’m just your ex. It feels weird even saying that. I feel like I’m so out of your life that I’m not even your ex. I’m nothing to you.”

       Kurt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Blaine, what are you even talking about? I’ve been living in Lima for the past month, interacting with almost no one except for you. If that doesn’t make you part of my life, then I don’t know what does.”

       Blaine shook his head. “Coming to New York and seeing what your life is really like has made me realize how far away from all that I am. But when you said I was your boyfriend, a part of me thought you were being honest, and I felt so happy. It makes no sense. Of course you were just using me to get this guy off your back. I realized it immediately after, but that first second, I had hope. I forgot what that felt like, when it comes to you.”

       Kurt felt uncomfortable, hearing Blaine talk like that, like how he used to talk when they first broke up, when he used to call and plead for forgiveness. It hurt them both because all Kurt could do was hang up. “Things are different now,” Kurt said. Blaine nodded. “Right?”

       “Definitely. But the more things change…”

       Kurt took his hand. “Listen. I only said that back there because I didn’t want you to be jealous. I didn’t want you thinking that I had any feelings for Paul.”

       Blaine shrugged, avoiding Kurt’s gaze, but letting his hand stay in Kurt’s hand nonetheless.

       “I guess what I mean is, I forgive you, for everything, and I hope you forgive me, too. I forgave you a long time ago, really, but I never knew how to tell you that. I thought the only thing I could do was to try to start over with somebody new, but that never happened.”

       Blaine’s eyes were wide, like he was afraid to blink for fear of missing anything Kurt was about to do. “So…?”

       Kurt had spent the last few weeks in between two tracks of thought: one that told him to run away from Blaine Anderson and everything in Kurt’s past that he represented. The other had been growing inside him since the play had started: a silent longing to try again with the boy he had always loved most of all.

       “I don’t know,” Kurt said, because he didn’t. But he leaned in and kissed Blaine, and this time, he didn’t pull away.

 

The two of them ran out of the cab holding hands, as the cab driver muttered something under his breath. Kurt’s hands shook as he put the key in the lock and opened his door.

       How do you make love to somebody whose body used to be home and now was another world entirely? Kurt closed the door behind him, turning to Blaine, wanting to ask all the questions that were swimming inside his head, but Blaine just grabbed him, and pressed him against the wall.

       It all came rushing back to him. Rachel’s first night on Broadway, the party, the way Blaine’s mouth tasted like whiskey, the tears in his eyes. But now, despite the champagne, Blaine only tasted like Blaine.

       He let Blaine kiss his neck. “Blaine, I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing his lips into Blaine’s hair. “I should have never let you go.”

       “Shh,” Blaine said, kissing him again. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

       Kurt started to cry. “We missed so much time…”

       “Maybe we needed it,” Blaine suggested, and Kurt smiled sadly at him.

       “You’re right,” Kurt said. He wiped a tear away. “We needed to learn how to be adults all on our own. Can you imagine if we had stayed together? We’d be fused at the head by now. So annoying.”

       “We’d probably have a summer house in the Hamptons, a little white dog named Precious. Everyone would find us insufferable.” There was sadness in his voice, and a silent moment passed between them, both of them wishing things had worked out differently.

       Finally, Kurt reached for him. “Take me to bed. We can talk about a little white dog later.”

 

They tumbled onto the bed, shedding clothes as they kissed and grabbed at each other frantically. “Oh--your suit,” Blaine said, as Kurt peeled his jacket off. “I should fold it--” Kurt kissed him through his words. “Or something. You know, so it won’t wrinkle.”

       “Fuck the suit,” Kurt said, grabbing at his belt buckle. “Fuck me,” he said, into Blaine’s lips, and Blaine moaned quietly.

       They were in their underwear quickly, Blaine on top of him, their bodies pressing and grinding together as they kissed, whimpering softly into each other’s lips. 

       Blaine ran his hand down Kurt’s torso, looking at him softly. “I’m nervous.”

       Kurt laughed, a strangled sound. “Me too,” he admitted. Blaine danced his finger against Kurt’s nipple, and Kurt whimpered softly. “I love you,” he whispered. “Don’t be nervous.”

       “I love you too,” Blaine said. He kissed Kurt again. “Can I touch you?” he asked softly, and Kurt nodded, thinking: _yes, I remember this. I remember you._

Blaine reached his hand down and pressed his palm until Kurt’s cock, which was hard and aching, and rubbed until Kurt was bucking into his hand. “Take it off,” Kurt mumbled, and Blaine pulled Kurt’s briefs down, and slid down his body to take his cock in his mouth. “Oh my god,” Kurt whimpered. Blaine looked up at Kurt as he sucked, his eyes teasing. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

       Blaine began to gently stroke the base of his cock, licking the head. “Is that a bad thing?”

       “No,” Kurt said, closing his eyes, and Blaine went back to sucking him. “You got really, really good at this,” Kurt added, and Blaine laughed. The sound of it vibrated against his cock and made Kurt twitch, wanting more and more.

       “Thanks,” Blaine said innocently

       Kurt reached down and ran his fingers through Blaine’s curls. “Not that you were ever bad or anything.”

       Blaine’s head bobbed up and down, and he said, “Hmm.” He picked up his head, kissing up and down Kurt’s shaft. “Yeah. We were young.”

       “So young,” Kurt said, and he laughed, realizing the absurdity of it all. He sat up, reaching for Blaine’s boxers. He pulled them down and stroked him. Blaine stood over him, on his knees, as Kurt began to suck him, sweet and slow.

       Blaine stroked his hair. His breathing started slow and steady and began to become strained as Kurt picked up the pace. “Oh, Kurt,” he said softly.

       Kurt went into the nightstand and took out a condom, which he rolled onto Blaine’s cock. “You want to fuck me, right?” he asked, and Blaine burst out laughing.

       “It’s cute that you think you even need to ask.”

       Kurt smiled shyly, and handed Blaine a bottle of lube. “Can you get me ready?” Blaine nodded seriously, and Kurt laid down, resting his head on the pillow and spreading his legs. The nervousness he felt was gone. It wasn’t like no time had passed between them--their bodies weren’t even entirely the same--and maybe it was true that they were completely different people, but the core that made them good together in the first place was still there. Kurt never felt comfortable with anyone like he did with Blaine. It had felt the same way when they slept together at Will Schuester’s wedding all those years ago. No matter what happened, coming back to each other always felt like coming home.

       Blaine lubed up his fingers, his cock, and then reached for Kurt’s hole, which he slowly teased open with his fingertips before putting the bottle aside. Kurt wiggled impatiently on the bed, wanting so badly to be full. Blaine grinned, recognizing the impatience from long-ago nights.  “You’re so beautiful,” he said, and Kurt felt himself flush all over.

       “Thank you,” he said, and Blaine got up, hovered over him. “You’re beautiful, too.”

       Blaine laughed, shaking his head, and Kurt pulled him into a kiss. He wrapped his legs around Blaine’s waist. “I mean it,” he said, between kisses.

       “I don’t deserve you,” Blaine said, softly. Their bodies were pressed together and Kurt could feel Blaine’s erection pressing into his belly, but they were still. “I never did, Kurt. I’m only ever going to let you down.”

       “No,” Kurt said. “Stop it. You’re so much better than you know.” There were tears in Blaine’s eyes, and Kurt kissed his eyelids. “I trust you,” he said. “Keep going.”

       Blaine eased into Kurt while kissing him sweetly. When he was all the way in, Kurt moaned thankfully. “Missed you,” he said, and Blaine kissed him harder.

       “I missed you more,” he said, and Kurt didn’t argue. He let Blaine take him, slowly at first, and then harder, until they were fucking desperately, the headboard of the bed pounding against the wall, both of them moaning, loud and frantic.

       When they had both come, Blaine pulled out but stayed on top of Kurt for a little while longer, resting his head on his chest.

       Kurt stroked Blaine’s hair. Gently, he said, “Blaine, when the play is over…”

       “Oh god, the play,” Blaine groaned. “Don’t remind me. The posters…”

       Kurt laughed. “Shut up about the posters. When the play is over, I think you should come back here with me.”

       “To New York? I don’t know--”

       “I know it’s a lot to ask. I just think you should be somewhere where your talent can really shine.”

       “My talent?” Blaine said, sitting up. “I haven’t written or performed anything in years.” He paused, thinking. “Well, I have been sort of writing a few songs lately,” he admitted, “Just the past few weeks. But I belong where I can do something, and that’s in Lima.”

       Kurt nodded. “I know you’ve got a life in Lima--”

       “It’s the theater. I wouldn’t feel right leaving it, knowing that it’s funding is in jeopardy.”

       “Rachel and I have a lot of connections, you know.”

       Blaine looked at him, stunned. “I didn’t think of that.”

       “We can get some funders together. Maybe have a benefit gala, I don’t know. You can work on it all from the city.” He took Blaine’s hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. “That is, if you want to be here.”

       “I do,” Blaine said. “I’m just scared.”

       Kurt knew how Blaine was feeling, because he was feeling it, too. What if there was no future for them? What if they couldn’t do theater in New York, the way they could do it in Lima? Blaine was so used to being a big fish in a small pond, and Kurt was so used to being in a different ocean entirely. “Maybe we can start our own theater here, one day.”

       Blaine laughed. “Yeah. I think we should.”

       It felt as though the future were opening up again, almost.

 

The next morning Kurt was woken by the sunlight peeping in through his blinds. He felt so at peace being back in his home. Rachel had been worried that once Kurt went to Lima he’d never come back, but Kurt knew that New York was his one and only home. He just had to get away to realize it.

       Blaine was still sleeping, lying on his side, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. Kurt watched him for a while, feeling an anxiousness run through him. What was next?

       He couldn’t stop thinking about what Blaine had told him— _I’m only ever going to let you down._ In the moment Kurt wasn’t fazed, because, well, he had other things on his mind—but now, in the morning light, Kurt was afraid of what he was feeling. It was so familiar, the same warm Blaine Anderson feelings he had felt so long ago, except this time he had proper warning from Blaine himself that his heart was only going to end up broken.

       Last night Kurt had told Blaine that he trusted him. Now, as Blaine slept peaceful beside him, Kurt wondered if he shouldn’t trust Blaine enough to believe him.

 

iv

 

       Blaine woke up being shoved. “Wake up, Blaine. We have a plane to catch.”

       Groggy, Blaine sat up and took the cup of coffee Kurt shoved into his hand.

       “Right,” Blaine said. “We have a play to put on,” he added, smiling, it all coming back to him: he slept with Kurt last night, and it was amazing, and they even talked about the future--their future together. They didn’t talk about it like something that they had lost, they talked about it as if it was something _real._ Then Blaine went to sleep and didn’t dream, because for the first time in a very long time, his life was a dream come true.

       He had forgotten that he was once the kind of person that this happened to regularly. He wasn’t sure how to handle it. He looked up at Kurt for some kind of signal of how they were supposed to act, but he got nothing. Kurt was shoving things into a suitcase, avoiding Blaine’s gaze. “I already took a shower,” Kurt said. “So you can go ahead and take one. We have a half an hour.”

       And that was that. Back to reality.

 

Kurt was quiet on the plane. Blaine thought at first Kurt’s silence was just the effects of morning sleepiness, but he had already had two cups of coffee and he still wasn’t saying very much. When the plane started to land, Blaine took Kurt’s hand, and Kurt pulled away.

       “Uh—I think, I don’t know, maybe we should just be professional until the play is finished,” Kurt said, explaining himself, still avoiding Blaine’s eyes. He said it all as if he wasn’t sure of it, but it still stung. “I’m sorry,” he added.

       Blaine cleared his throat. His mouth suddenly felt very, very dry, like the atmosphere had suddenly changed around him without warning. “So, like…”

       “Let’s just be friends,” he said curtly, still staring straight ahead.

       Blaine blinked dumbly at him. “Okay,” he said. All that stuff they had talked about last night, about Blaine moving to New York, about them starting a theater company and working together forever, all those things churned around his brain frantically, saying, _but but but_! Blaine was silent, because he couldn’t think of a single thing to say, and in his self-hatred fueled body, it made total sense.

       _He will never love me again,_ Blaine thought, his heart throbbing with ache in his chest. He looked at Kurt, who had now started picking at a stray thread on his sweater, and recognized that there was pain in him, a pain Blaine knew, and he decided not to push it. _If Kurt only wants to be my friend,_ Blaine thought, _then fine. I’ll be his friend. I’ll be a good friend, because I love Kurt and I want only to make his life better._ Blaine wanted to tell him all that--tell him that all that mattered was that Kurt was happy and felt loved. All Blaine could ask for is being a part of that.

       It didn’t stop it from hurting, and it didn’t stop Blaine from wanting Kurt so badly he felt like he was going to burst, but it made him feel at least a little bit close to okay. Because they were here, together, working towards something. And there was something about the way Kurt was acting that made it seem like he was bluffing, that he was just scared, and so maybe there was hope in everything, after all.

       Despite of everything, Blaine’s heart continued to hope with each beat: There is a happy ending here for us, somewhere, someplace. He would wait forever, if he had to.

 

Part IV

_Future_

 

i

The last couple of weeks of rehearsals went by fast. Blaine seemed to take Kurt’s suggestion that they be simply friends in stride. He busied himself with the minute details of costumes, newspaper ads, and the Lima Community Theater’s twitter page, which had an abysmal 25 followers.

       Blaine sprinted out of the theater at the end of the last few rehearsals, as if he was afraid of what would happen if he and Kurt were alone, in the auditorium or the parking lot. Kurt tried not to be hurt by it, tried to remind himself that Blaine was only doing what Kurt asked. Kurt found himself up at nights, wondering why he always seemed to want two different things from Blaine. Every time a rehearsal came to an end, Kurt wished it was different, wishing Blaine would stay with him. He was constantly at war with himself. One moment he’d convince himself he made the right decision--that it _was_ stupid in the first place to get mixed up with Blaine, that it was only bad news. The other part of him was only full of raw, naked longing to be in Blaine’s arms again.

       No matter which part of himself he was listening to at any given moment, he couldn’t help but feel a small relief every time he saw Blaine walk away. It was the decision already made for him. He could pretend that there wasn’t any other way than this, that there was nothing that could change the fact that his and Blaine’s love was never meant to be.

      

Kurt felt like he was only going through the motions the night of dress rehearsals. All he could think about was that the show was nearly over, and that meant back to New York. His whole body felt sick about it, even that part of him that still quietly said, with every beat of his heart: _run, run, run._

       When they had gone through the entire play, all done up, Blaine stood at the center of the stage and gave them a small nod.

       “Good job, guys. I think we’ve done all we can do. Now get some rest and be here early tomorrow for hair and makeup.”

       “That’s it?” Jess said, crossing her arms. “’Good job’? I thought we did great!  You should be applauding!”

       Blaine was tense. Kurt could tell by the way his shoulders dropped, how he rubbed his temples every few minutes with his fingertips, but he humored Jess. “It was great, but I’ll applaud tomorrow when you show this town what you can do. Now get out of here, everyone. Rest!”

       Marie and Jess and Gareth headed out, murmuring soft goodnights, but something wouldn’t let Kurt move from his spot on the stage, and to his surprise, Blaine stood where he was, too. They both lingered for a moment, looking at each other as if they hadn’t seen the other since the plane ride from New York.

       “How are you feeling?” Blaine said, finally.

       “Fine,” Kurt said, his heart rising to his throat, making his voice come out in a strained squeak. Blaine offered him a pained smile as Kurt made his way down the stage steps.

       “You were excellent, tonight. Don’t be nervous.”

       Kurt laughed bitterly. If only he was nervous. If only he could think about anything but Blaine. This is why he hated Blaine so much over the past few years, why he found it so hard to forgive him for a mistake so long ago. It was so hard to think about anything when Blaine was on his mind. It wasn’t fair. “I’m not nervous about the play. I’m nervous about you.”

       “Me?”

       “It scares me,” Kurt said, his voice shaking. “How you make me feel one way and then say another. How you make me feel safe, and then you tell me I’m not safe with you.” Blaine was staring at him blankly, and Kurt’s cheeks were turning pink. “I love you, Blaine, but I can’t go through losing you again. How can I be confident you won’t hurt me if _you’re_ not even confident about it?”

       Blaine’s mouth opened slightly, his eyes wide, unblinking. “Oh,” he said. “So that’s what this is about.”

       Kurt almost laughed, but instead he started crying, because it was so stupid, how they had wasted so much time apart, only to get back together and waste more time. Blaine hesitated at the sight of Kurt crumpling into tears. “Hug me!” Kurt demanded, and Blaine laughed, and reached for him, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He wrapped Kurt up in his arms and Kurt felt what he always felt when Blaine surrounded him—safe.

       “I need you to tell me it’s never going happen again. Ever. I mean it, Blaine.”

       “It won’t. I’m not going to hurt you again, I promise. It was a stupid thing to say.” He shrugged, shaking his head slightly. “I never forgave myself, Kurt, that’s why I don’t trust myself, but if you’ll trust me, then I’ll do it, too. You could have told me what was bothering you that morning, instead of shutting me out. We could have talked about it.”

       Kurt nodded, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You make me act crazy sometimes.”

       They embraced again, this time kissing, long and slow, until a custodian came in and shut the lights off. “I guess that’s our cue,” Blaine said, and Kurt took him by the hand, squeezing him tight, a voice in his head telling him to hold on.

 

They rushed out of the darkened auditorium, hand in hand, already talking in hushed voices about what was next. Not anything all too serious or far-away. They were trying to figure out where to go, _your place or mine?_ Which, for Blaine, was sort of nostalgic, like when they used to compare parent schedules to plan make out sessions ( _Well, Thursday night Burt and Carole are going to dinner, but Finn and Rachel will probably be around, maybe we can try to pencil something in during your mother’s dentist appointment?_ )

       They decided to go to Blaine’s apartment, because even though the thread counts of his sheets left something to be desired, they were less likely to be interrupted by nosy parents there. It was almost like nothing had changed at all, but not quite.

       The car ride to Blaine’s apartment was a blur of street lights and anticipation. Blaine was afraid to speak, afraid to ruin everything again. It left him feeling paralyzed, like the best thing he could do was be as silent and unmoving as possible, lest he mess up again, as he often did.

       Kurt was fidgeting in his seat, staring out the window, then at Blaine, and then the window again, repeating this every few minutes. Blaine stopped at a red light and looked at Kurt at the same time Kurt was looking at him, and suddenly, for the first time in years, Blaine felt like everything was going to be okay, like he didn’t have to worry anymore, because Kurt smiled at him like he knew everything and it was all right. It was as if they were communicating telepathically, and Kurt said: “Blaine, I love you,” just as the light turned green, and Blaine slammed his foot on the pedal.

       “I love you, too,” Blaine said, speeding the rest of the way to his apartment, wanting everything (his whole entire future) all at once, now, with Kurt, and he couldn’t wait to tell Dr. Marsha all about, because finally, he knew exactly who he was.

 

       “Uh, sorry, it’s a complete and total mess,” Blaine said sheepishly as he turned his key and opened his apartment door.

       “Oh, it’s fine,” Kurt said, but then the door opened all the way and Kurt found himself cringing. There were dirty clothes on the floor, on the couch ( _why?_! Kurt wondered.), and dirty dishes in the sink. “Oh, honey.”

       Blaine started frantically picking up clothes, then, having shoved them safely in his one arm, started wiping down the kitchen counters with a rag with the other. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just—um, tidy up a bit. Do you want a drink, or something?”

       “No thanks,” Kurt said, taking a seat on the couch, letting his body touch the cushions just enough so that he could balance himself in a sitting position. Blaine went into his bedroom for a good ten minutes; cleaning, Kurt presumed. He thought he heard the whirring of a vacuum cleaner. When Blaine came out, Kurt smiled at him kindly.

       “I have a cleaning woman in New York,” he said. “So if you still want to move in with me, we can just forget about your general messiness.”

       “I’m usually neat,” Blaine protested. “I’ve just been under a lot of stress the past few weeks.” He let out a long breath, and then sat down, realizing what Kurt just said. He took Kurt’s hand, picked it up to his lips, and kissed it so softly that Kurt’s entire body seemed to spark. “I do,” he said. “I want to move to New York with you.”

       “How soon?”

       “As soon as possible. Whenever you want me.”

       “After the play is over?”

       Blaine nodded. “Yeah. I want out of Lima,” he said, laughing. “Ever since we came back from New York, I couldn’t stop thinking that I don’t belong here. I guess I was just waiting to know where I really belong.”

       “With me?” Kurt offered shyly.

       “With you,” Blaine repeated, and he leaned in and kissed Kurt, softly and eagerly and innocent, light as air.

       _This is what starting over feels like,_ Kurt thought, even though he was in a (most likely) flea infested apartment in the bad part of Lima.

       He pushed Blaine back gently so that he was lying down and got on top of him. Blaine’s fingers trailed through his hair as they kissed. Kurt sucked Blaine’s bottom lip, and Blaine let out a small whisper of a groan.

       “You’re perfect,” Kurt said, lowering his head, kissing Blaine’s neck. Blaine shivered at the feeling of Kurt’s tongue on his adam’s apple.

       “I’m not perfect,” Blaine said, his voice gruff.

       “You’re close enough,” Kurt said. He picked up his head and leaned over Blaine, looking him in the eye. “I mean it. I know you, and you’re perfect to me.”

       Blaine grinned, a real, childlike grin of happiness. “Well, you’re more perfect,” Blaine said, between kisses, and Kurt laughed.

       “I know.”

       Then they stopped talking. Kurt pulled his shirt off over his head, and Blaine ran his fingers down his bare back gingerly. “Love you,” Blaine said softly against his lips, and Kurt echoed him. Blaine started to buck up, his crotch rubbing against Kurt’s, and they were kissing and moving so frantically Kurt felt like he would fall apart, here, soon, as if they were really two inexperienced kids again, so hungry for each other it could never wait. Kurt unbuttoned Blaine’s jeans and pulled out his cock, which he began to stroke in solid, even strokes, watching Blaine’s face relax, his breathing start to come out in long sighs. “Take your pants off,” Blaine whispered, “I want to feel you against me.”

       Kurt’s movements were awkward. His mind was starting to cloud with pure desire, and he thought about maybe suggesting that they move it into the bedroom (especially since Blaine had taken all the trouble to vacuum...) but instead he pushed his pants down with an alarming speed. He spit into his right palm with a vulger simplicity, and took his and Blaine’s cocks in his fist. He sat up, on his knees, Blaine below him. Blaine moaned softly and wrapped his legs around Kurt’s waist as Kurt pumped his fist slowly, rocking his hips gently, until Blaine was panting and coming in spurts over Kurt’s fingers.

       “Fuck,” Blaine whispered, his eyes still closed. He licked his lips and then opened them, and Kurt stared at him, drinking in the details of his blown-out pupils and flushed cheeks.

       Kurt smiled mischievously, lifting his hand to his mouth and licking his fingers clean. Blaine watched him, a shy smile forming on his lips. “Should we go to the bedroom?”

       Blaine nodded. He sat up and pulled Kurt into another kiss, and Kurt noticed the tears forming quietly in Blaine’s eyes. “I missed you,” Blaine said, quietly, and Kurt kissed his forehead.

       “I missed you too.”

       “But it was all my fault. I deserved to miss you.”

       Kurt shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I want to start over.”

       “Me too.”

       There was a small moment of doubt, but Kurt didn’t let himself go back there. Pushing Blaine away to punish him always ended up being a punishment for himself. He wasn’t interested in doing it anymore. Why should they punish themselves, together, when they could be happy and in love like they were always meant to be?

       “Life is short,” Kurt said, finally, putting it to rest. “Let’s go.” He took Blaine’s hand and took him to the bedroom.

      

ii

       “Are you sure I don’t look too powdery?” Kurt asked Melissa, the makeup artist, who, coincidentally, was a high school sophomore that Blaine was paying $20 a night to do hair and makeup.

       “No,” she said wide-eyed, chewing gum audibly. Kurt shrugged, defeated. It was already done. He fidgeted in his chair, thinking about looking at his script one more time, but feeling nauseous at the thought of it. Melissa went off to go check on the ladies’ hair one more time, leaving Kurt alone in his dressing room until a knock on the door came. Kurt looked into the mirror in front of him to see Blaine, holding a bouquet of roses.

       “Oh, shit,” Blaine said, trying to hide them with his hands. “Sorry, I thought you were backstage already. I was going to hide these in here to give you after the play.”

       Kurt smiled and kissed Blaine when he walked over, placing the bouquet on the table in front of them. “It’s okay. I’ll act surprised. Hopefully I do well and you won’t regret buying them for me.”

       “Not going to happen,” Blaine said. “How are you feeling?”

       “Nervous,” Kurt admitted. “But fine.” He stood up. “I guess I should start heading back there. We’re going to start soon.”

       Blaine gave him one final kiss. “Rachel’s out there. I saw her in the hallway. She said something about how she’s moving to New York this fall, something about a new off-Broadway play she just signed on to do. Something about getting back to her artistic roots?”

       “She’s always copying me.”

       “She mentioned they’re looking for a male lead,” Blaine said, sing-song. “Open auditions in a few weeks? She thinks you should audition.”

       Kurt’s mind felt fuzzy with nerves, but he felt excited by this news anyway. “Let’s talk about it after _this_ show,” Kurt said.

       Blaine nodded. There was a brief pause where they just looked at each other. “Wow, Melissa really over-did it with the powder.”

       Kurt nodded solemnly. “We have nowhere to go but up, Blaine. Remember that, no matter what happens.” Then, like a true professional, he walked off, ready to shine once more.

 


End file.
